


An Education at Durmstrang

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Durmstrang, F/M, House Elves, Trolls, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: Lucinda & William travel to Durmstrang to deliver an 'educational lecture'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I do not appreciate being summoned by the Ministry. Alright, they didn’t send me an exploding letter, nor one that shouted, and indeed it didn’t contain poison. But the wording was official-sounding. I was worried that my name would now be in some official record somewhere, that an official copy of this official letter would be filed in an official file. That’s not how I like to handle my affairs. I like to keep them quiet, unnoticed, under the radar.

Nevertheless, I arrived at the correct office at the correct time, deep within the Ministry’s corridors. It was the complex of the International Confederation of Wizards. I was surprised to read the name on the door of the office: Percy Weasley, Adjutant to the British Membership. I knocked, a voice called me inside, and I opened the door. Lowering the deep hood I’d been wearing just in case someone might recognise me, I walked inside.

The office was dour and boring. Grey-green walls held portraits of old nature scenes, the animals going about their business with a kind of languid officiousness. It was the same attitude of the man sitting behind the dark, wooden desk covered in worryingly neat stacks of scrolls and paper folders. A quill was hovering over a piece of scroll in front of him, eager to write down whatever it heard. The man himself was in a grey suit with dark grey robes and a pointed wizard’s hat that somehow managed to be over the top and boring at the same time. Behind his thick glasses I could see no trace of humour or personality. His only remarkable feature was the shock of red hair sticking out from beneath his hat. 

“Mister Weasely,” I said in greeting.

Sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk was my long-time associate, friend and occasional lover, William Grey. He had long, dark hair with flecks of grey and a matt black eye-patch over one eye. They both looked up as I entered and I wondered if William had asked for me to be brought here. Weasley rose first and came around his massive desk to shake my hand,

“Ah, Miss Baker. Pleased to meet you at last.”

“At last?”

“Well, one hears things,” he stammered awkwardly, withering under my gaze.

“Yes. One does hear things,” I said, adopting a haughtier, more posh accent, “One does indeed hear things,” I commented darkly. I was aware of Percy’s questionable career within the Ministry. Everyone was, really. I wondered briefly if even he knew what they said about him, behind his back.

“Would you care to sit down?” he said, walking back to his chair, his face blushing a deep red, “A glass of water? Some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” I said, sitting next to William.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re late,” Weasley continued, “I had already explained to Mister Grey about the nature of our request.” He sat down at his desk, with its busily writing quill. It scratched at the paper too loudly for my liking. I peered down my nose at him, thinking that he was lucky I had arrived at all, late or not.

“That’s Professor Doctor Grey, I think you’ll find,” William piped up. Weasley gave him a double-take and I looked at him curiously – he must also really dislike this man to be insisting on such a ridiculous title.

“I do apologise, Professor Doctor,” said Weasley, suddenly sweating.

“Excellent. Now, if you’d like to repeat your request for my colleague, I would appreciate a glass of your finest water,” he continued. I have a fantastic poker face, but I found it hard not to smile slightly.

“Yes, very good,” said Weasley, leaping out of his seat and practically running to the side board on the left of the room with a glass jug of water and several plain glasses. “Well, as you’re no doubt aware, Miss Baker, your-”

“Mz Baker,” I interrupted, and from the corner of my eye I could see William tense up in his chair. I glanced at his eye – he was looking at me, and I could see the mischievous glee dancing in his icy blue iris.

“I do apologise, Mz Baker,” he said, handing a glass of water to William and returning to his seat.

“Actually,” I said as Weasley sat down again, “I think I would appreciate a glass of water after all.”

Next to me, William convulsed suddenly, his eyes tight shut and the glass inches from his lips, his cheeks bulging. He swallowed with difficulty and took a deep gasp of breath.

“Is everything okay?” said Weasley, alarmed, getting up once more and going to the sideboard.

“Yes, I’m fine,” croaked William, his eyes watering, “I must have just inhaled a bit of water or something. I’m so sorry for interrupting, please go on,” he said as Weasley handed me the glass of water. William was tight-lipped, determined not to look at me, but I could tell from his eyes that he was holding back a great guffaw of laughter. I sipped at my water delicately, regarding Weasley with an intense level of polite interest.

“Well, yes. Where was I? Ah, yes, I was starting from the beginning,” he was stammering, reading over what the magical quill had written with desperately quick eyes, trying to regain his dignity without even knowing it. “Well, as you know, my department was instrumental in enabling Mister- I mean, Professor Doctor Grey, in his most recent and highly acclaimed project. And once again, may I congratulate you.”

“You may,” said William. There was a silence while Weasley’s brain caught up,

“Er, yes. Congratulations again, in that case. Yes. It was a stirring spectacle, I understand. And quite an achievement for the whole wizarding world. Who’d have thought it, eh?” he said, and chuckled dryly, pleased with himself. I wasn’t sure, but I assume he had just made some sort of joke. “But as I was saying,” he continued, his voice returning to a dull monotone, “My department was instrumental in enabling the entire endeavour. Part of one of the conditions of our instrumentality was that you, Professor Doctor, would be required to be an envoy of the British wizards in matters of learning and lecturing, and so on.”

“Yes. I understand this part. You’ve told me already. I’m to be a fascinating ambassador for further international undertakings, as a mark of my gratitude to the international wizarding community for their help. Is that the gist of it?”

“Well… y-yes, but I wouldn’t phrase-”

“Now perhaps you would care to explain to my colleague why she has been summoned to your chamber, yes?” he suggested, in a light, pleasant tone. Weasley blushed even more, glancing down at the scroll.

“Professor Doctor Grey is being sent to Durmstrang. His recent paper on runic space-folding appears to have caught their attention, and they’d like him to give a talk on the subject. And obviously my superiors have requested for you to accompany him. Your powers of… observation are well-known, and we’d certainly appreciate having, uh, another set of eyes over there.”

I sat there, very patiently, waiting for a punch line. The rustling of the quill ceased briefly, gladly. I was dimly aware that William had been drawing a lot of designs recently and it was actually his assistant metalworker that leaked the research material. He’d never intended for it to be released to the public in any way, let alone published. I suppose they were innovative, in their way. It had all seemed like a lot of theoretical arithmancy to me. He’d told me it was. And because of this, we’re being sent to Durmstrang?

“So you want me to play spy for you, because he wrote… what was it?  _ Every which way but now _ . Something about clockwork and… diagrams…?”

“ _ Every which way but now: An exercise in shared space and micro-gears. _ Runic space-folding and the crossed axles principle,” Weasley said, apparently affronted, while William sat patiently. Weasley continued, “In which he outlined the principles of shared space and the formula ‘W to the power of N equals T cubed’. It’s a seminal work,” he gushed.

“Seminal eh?” I smirked, and William sat up.

“It was just a clockwork doll,” he muttered, sighing heavily. Weasley stared at him in apparent disbelief, checking the fresh ink on his scroll to confirm what he’d just heard.

“A seminal clockwork doll. I see. A clockwork doll. Seminal,” I said gleefully.

“Well, I think it will change a lot,” Weasley sniffed, “Regardless, the faculty at Durmstrang have requested that you give a lecture on the subject to their senior faculty, and exchange ideas, and so forth.”

“I know! You’ve told me eleven times!” William snapped.

“So we’re going to Durmstrang?” I asked, motioning at him and me, returning to the dire subject.

“You won’t be going alone,” Weasley assured us. “We’re sending one of our Aurors along with you. One of our top men.”

“Who?” I demanded.

“One of our top men,” Weasley repeated nervously, “And of course we’ll be equipping you with certain emergency measures should the situation… develop.”

“You know we’re both muggle-born?” I said, still skeptical, “You know what they’re like at Durmstrang?”

“Like I said, emergency measures,” Weasley said, suddenly slapping the scratching quill down onto the desk, his face sweating and bright red.

“Listen, if you want me to do this, I’m going to need details,” said William.

“Yes, indeed,” said Weasley, and opened one of the desk drawers.

“What?” I asked, surprised. “What makes you think we’re doing this?”

“Well, I’m doing it, anyway. What do you reckon?” he asked, facing me directly, “Fancy a holiday?”

“Somewhere nice, sure,” I said, after a heartbeat, “Somewhere warm and sunny. With cocktails. And massages.  _ Nice  _ massages. Not to the frozen, dark, underground, racist wizards. You know I hear stories about that place,” I said to William.

“I’m sure there’ll be skiing,” he replied.

“So, here is your equipment,” said Weasley, handing me a large red package with a carefully scripted label, in green ink, bearing only my name. I handled it carefully – it was heavy, with what sounded like a lot of careful packaging and wadding.

“Do I get anything?” William asked.

“Yes, you have this,” Weasley said, handing over a plain brown folder stuffed to bursting with cheap grey pieces of flat paper, bound with feathery cotton thread.

“Oh, brilliant,” he said sarcastically, undoing the knot.

“And when will we meet your ‘top man’?” I asked.

“He will… uh… ‘make contact’ tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding?!” William exclaimed, looking at the first rough sheet of paper in the open folder, “The damn text  _ moves _ ! It’s wriggling all over the place. I’m going to need more time to read this.”

“How much time?”

“Well… the day after tomorrow?” William suggested, flipping through the pages, staring at them in horror.

“I’m assuming we’re being paid for this,” I interrupted.

“My, uh… my superiors have asked you to name your price.”

“Seriously?” I said, my eyebrows shooting up. That’s a very silly thing to say during a negotiation, and the thought of ‘nameless money’ would make anyone sit up, “I can name some very high numbers.”

“I can name some numbers that don’t practically exist,” added William.

“Well, whatever number you name will certainly be taken into consideration. I’m afraid I can’t… uh… actually guarantee anything until after the next shuffle of the monthly budget, because all Ministry transactions are on hold until the bi-annual review of post-war spending. We thank you for bearing with us during this time of transition. But after that shuffle-budget, my superiors will certainly be pleased to re-open negotiations vis-à-vis the terms,” Weasley droned, falling back into a comfortable robotic role, picking up the quill from the desk and smoothing out the short black feather. He set it scribbling once again and it raced to catch up, writing frantically.

“And I’m guessing Dumstrang already know who I am,” I said.

“Uh, no, actually. They only requested Professor Doctor Grey, but we’re insisting that he’s accompanied by two others; a bodyguard and a personal assistant. One is you, obviously.”

“So… they  _ don’t _ know who I am? No files, no dossier, no intelligence?”

“As far as I’m aware, no,” said Weasley, consulting a scroll on is desk.

“I don’t want to be just his bodyguard,” I said.

“Uh, actually…” said Weasley, but I interrupted,

“I want to be… director of his security division.”

“What? We’re not giving you a whole division,” Weasley protested.

“So? Durmstrang might not know that.”

“You might attract attention if you have a big title,” William commented next to me. I gave him a withering look.

“I am aware of that,” I said icily, “But I don’t want those Durmstrang people to be able to boss me around, alright?”

“What about my chief information officer?” William suggested.

“Sounds a bit vague,” I commented, negatively at first, “And intimidating. Chief. Officer. Of information. Actually, I like it.” It really had warmed on me. If I had gone the government route, I suppose I might have had a title like that, and it would be on a door somewhere in this maze of tunnels and bureaucracy.

“Good. Well, if that’s settled? Professor Doctor Grey and Mz Baker, I’m sure you’d like to start to put your affairs in order,” said Weasley, starting to look around at his desk of neat stacks and notes, “So if you’ll excuse me, there’s still quite a lot of immigration paperwork, special dispensatory visas, diplomatic immunity treaties and medical insurance agreements to work out.”

“Oh, right. Are we off then? Is that it?” I said, looking at the parcel in my hands.

“Yes, I believe so. Everything else will be explained by our agent, who’ll pick you up the day after tomorrow, as we agreed. He will brief you on the minutiae. Thank you very much, obviously, and I have been authorised in extending the Ministry’s thanks,” he said curtly.

“Let’s go,” said William, standing, placing his empty glass on one of the piles of paperwork on the desk. Weasley looked at it with an astonished expression. I stood with him, holding onto my own half-empty glass. As William turned away, I hurriedly put the glass down on another pile of paperwork too, picked up my parcel and strode out after William, glancing back at Weasley looking at the two glasses on his paperwork, the condensation threatening to smear the ink on the paperwork.

“So,” I said to William as I closed the door behind me, “A clockwork doll?”

“Yeah, it was an idea. Never thought anyone would… you know,  _ read _ it!” William laughed.

“Professor Doctor Grey?” I said, grinning.

“Mz Baker?” he grinned back.

“Would you care for some water?” I chuckled, as we strode off, semi-confident in our ability to find the lifts again.

“Listen, can I see what’s in your package?” he asked me.

“No!” I replied, “You’ve got your own homework,” and pointed at the bundle of unrefined, horribly wriggling calculations. He sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I was struggling to follow the wizard in front of me as we flew on broomsticks through the early-morning grey sky. I was sure that below me it was drizzling. I had dressed properly in a thick brown leather overcoat over a cloak, with my favourite bronze flying goggles – my jacket and dress being kept dry inside. I’d also had a haircut, which was now being blown around by the wind flying past. I was wearing a heavy backpack and two satchels, which made my flying even clumsier. And the man in front of me was flying skilfully, despite his own luggage. We were on our way to William’s house to pick him up and then embark on our long broomstick ride to the various rendezvous points with the wizards who would guide us to the damn Durmstrang fortress.

After far too long flying through the thick grey air, we landed outside his old castle, riddled with new constructions and bizarre structures. William was waiting for us in the driveway, peering up with binoculars. He waved us down with a lit wand.

“Good morning,” he said, giving me a hug that might have been warming except for the layers of thick weather clothing. “Would anyone like any tea? Or breakfast? I mean, I’ve already eaten but I could happily do so again.”

“Mister Grey, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Mister Bradley,” said my guide.

“Listen,” said William, puffing on his pipe – I noticed blearily that he was only wearing a shirt, a jacket, pinstripe trousers and what appeared to be silver slippers,

“I’m not flying in this. Would it matter very much if we took a more sheltered vehicle?” he asked, shaking Bradley’s hand. The stranger looked up into the sky, stroking the back of his bald head uncertainly, then tweaking at his thick black beard.

“I suppose not. It would certainly give us a strategic advantage,” he mused.

“Fantastic. Hoppy, would you mind bringing the car around?” William said loudly, addressing the thin air. From somewhere in the mist there was a growl of some sort of engine, and headlamps lit up, quite far away. There were four of them – two on the left and two on the right. A silvery car drove towards us, the gravel crunching under the tyres.

“We can’t drive, we need to fly,” said Bradley.

“It flies,” said William.

“That’s illegal,” he replied.

“So we’ll fly in the rain, then. Let me just pop inside and get a hot water bottle,” William said, looking at the man with his one good eye.

“Under the circumstances, I suppose I’ll drive,” said Bradley as the car arrived next to us.

“Good. You’re the only one who can. I don’t know how, Hoppy is staying here, and Lucinda looks exhausted. She’s not an early riser, you know. Me neither. Thank you, very much,” said William, seizing Bradley’s hand again and shaking it vigorously, “Have you eaten, yourself?”

“I have had breakfast, yes,” said Bradley, “We should really get going. I assume it has an enlarged trunk? For our broomsticks?”

“Well, no. I haven’t gotten around to casting those charms yet. Put your bags in the boot and we’ll strap the sticks to the roof.”

“Sir?” said Hoppy, his house elf, getting out of the car, “The paintwork?”

“Don’t be silly. Strap their sticks to the roof,” he ordered her. Grumbling about the polished wax of the car, she snatched my broomstick and Bradley’s, while William explained the controls of the car to Bradley, emphasising the special features.

“Wait, you had time to take apart the engine and build a flight charm, install invisibility shields and defensive wards, and the various extras, then rebuild the engine again. But you didn’t have time to expand the interior?”

“Well, no. I’ve had other things on my mind at the moment,” William said defensively.

Half an hour later, I was riding in the warm comfort of the back of a 1955 Ford ‘Zephyr Zodiac’. There wasn’t much room in the back, which usually would have made me feel claustrophobic. But the closeness of everyone and the limited space made it easier to stay warm. William had a large thermos of tea that he’d shared with us, and bacon sandwiches wrapped in tin foil. In the glove compartment Bradley found some more foil-wrapped food – fried eggs in steaming bagels, dripping in ketchup, a thermos full of beans, and a freshly sliced melon. Me and Bradley ate happily while William kept being distracted by the papers in the folder.

“So how’s it going with that?” I asked.

“It’s fucking stupid,” he said, slurping noisily at his tea. “Most of this is just superfluous nonsense. It’s like looking at spaghetti when I’m after… logic!” he exclaimed in irritation.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. Where’s this maths obsession come from?”

“Well, tell you the truth, I had a bit of help with the actual arithmancy,” said William quietly.

“What? You mean you didn’t write Every which way but now? Who did then?!” Bradley said, surprised. hi

“I was just discussing it with the researchers in the Institute, one day. And suddenly I’m getting memos and worksheets about it! I thought it was all just a bit of fun. I mean, who really wants a clockwork doll? It’s creepy,” he said, shrugging and slurping his tea again.

“So you didn’t want it to be published and you didn’t write it either? Is there any part of it you actually produced?! They’re saying it’s a revolutionary text or something,” Bradley commented.

“You know what the worst part is? None of the guys in the Institute will even talk to me now. They think I’m some sort of glory hog, or something,” he said sadly. He turned back to the wriggling notes in front of him, his brow furrowed in focus and concentration.

“Will you be able to understand what they talk about?” said Bradley from the front seat, one hand on the wheel and one hand clutching a thick bagel, having put bacon in with the egg.

“I already understand it,” William said, “It isn’t difficult. It’s just dense. This is the fourth time I’ve gone over it from the start; the second time I’ve done it without a blackboard. Right now I’m just wondering who the hell wrote this out!” he said, trailing off into silence as the dancing symbols drew his attention once more.

“No,” said Bradley, “I meant do either of you speak the languages? Russian, even?”

“Me?” said William, looking from me to Bradley, “No. Only English,” he said, focusing again on the bundle of notes.

“Me either,” I said. I was only slightly lying, “Shouldn’t you know this? Aren’t you supposed to be briefing us?”

“I wasn’t supposed to yet, but I suppose now is a good time,” he said.

“So you’ve seen our files? You should already know what languages I speak,” I said.

“I have neither had access to nor read the contents of any files that certainly don’t exist within the Ministry’s extensive archives,” he replied smoothly. “But here are two phrasebooks, just in case,” he added, pulling two slim pamphlets out of his inside pocket and passing them back to us. I opened one and looked through it.

The language was pretty basic stuff – introductions, warnings, other common phrases. I passed the other to William, who didn’t notice it, so I put it on the seat next to him, amongst the terrain of strange research notes now surrounding him.

“William?” I asked, suddenly wary of the writhing foreign script.

“Yes?” he asked back, not looking up.

“Could you look at something for me?”

“What? Yeah, sure,” he said, still not looking up.

From my bag I dug out the things that had been inside the red parcel given to me by the Weasley boy. The most important, most impressive item was the camera. It was shining brass, with burgundy leatherette panelling. It felt large and heavy in my hand – the lens extended out quite far on a leathery telescopic arrangement, on a brass rail that ran along the inside of the hinged flap. There were several small brass levers and switches alongside the viewfinder, the lens and the flap. I had no idea what these switches did, nor the other buttons along the top. I waved it at William until he looked up, and then he had the same reaction I had when I had first opened its parcel:

“Oh wow! Look at that!”

He took it from me gingerly, peering at it closely.

“It might have started out as a classic Polaroid Land camera,” he muttered, “One of those travelling ones.”

“Polaroid?” asked Bradley.

“It’s a muggle thing,” I told him, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“But it’s enchanted,” William was muttering, “It’s riddled with disconnected little charms. It won’t do at all.”

“How can you tell?” I asked warily.

“It’s easy once you know what to look for,” William said distractedly.

“What do you mean, it won’t do?” asked Bradly.

“Well, if you’re to be a spy and use this camera to record things, I assume? And provide physical evidence? You’ll need this camera to be concealed. And look at it – it’s big and powerful.”

“So, shrink it?” I suggested.

“No, I don’t mean big like that. They think they’re being clever and modern but they really just make everything so difficult,” he kept muttering to himself.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I’m assuming Durmstrang have a similar spell-detection setup as Hogwarts. And as outsiders, we’ll be watched. I need to reduce the magical signature of this thing, if you want it to be a secret camera,” William said to Bradley impatiently, “I can fix it,” he said to me, and he lifted his wand, the tip already glowing.

“Please be careful,” I said.

For the next hour I watched William disassemble and reassemble the beautiful camera that the government had given me. I was almost too distressed to finish my breakfast, but William and Bradley kept munching away on greasy food while William poked the camera components with his wand. I winced every time he did, but even I’d have to admit he was taking care, being delicate, and doing a good job. With the humming of the car’s engine, the gentle rocking of the clouds and wind outside, and the careful tinkering of William so close to me I may have eventually drifted off into sleep a couple of times. I’m usually very wary, and a light sleeper, so I was awake when William started to talk to Bradley. But I kept my eyes shut and my breathing light, so they wouldn’t know.

“Bradley, do you have a first name?”

“You can call me Bradley,” the bald, bearded man replied jovially.

“Okay, Bradley. You can call me William. I’m having a crisis, Bradley.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m going over Lucinda’s kit here and I’m seeing a lot of silly, elementary mistakes. Of the kind that will… offend. Understand? I used to work in the Office of Auror Support, I know the sorts of mistakes that will get people killed in the field. Now, I don’t know what the Ministry has given you, obviously, but I’d love to take a look at it.”

“You should be studying those notes,” Bradley said.

“What can I say, I can’t focus unless I know I’m safe,” William said. Bradley grumbled quietly but still let William inspect the various little secret gadgets and gizmos he had hidden about his person. Without opening my eyes, I listened to the noise of William swearing as his fingers burnt on a sparking wand, in the middle of what he was tinkering with. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep once more.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up regularly during the flight. Every time William swore as he tinkered away, and every time Bradley swerved or adjusted course. When we ran into the waypoint wizards, waving us onto a new direction and path, I tried to pay special attention. But the sky around us was entirely grey – we were surrounded by cloud. Eventually rain started pattering against the windscreen, but it quickly turned into snow as we journeyed further north. I lost all sense of place and direction as we navigated around the sky. I knew William wouldn’t be paying attention either.

Finally we saw Durmstrang emerge through the snowstorm outside. The wind blew the curtain of the storm aside for a second, and the squat, dark fortress was revealed to us. It was built on a high mountain, with windows and balconies carved directly into some of the mountainside. The structure atop it was no more than four stories tall. Many of the buildings were made of black stone, with snow blowing off the walls in smoky tendrils. Lots of the windows were darkened, too – only a few glowed with pale sickly lights of various colours. Bradley was trying to steer the car into the main courtyard,

“Uh, Professor Doctor Grey?”

“I told you, you can call me William.”

“Yeah, William, the steering is frozen up.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“We drove through rain and cloud and then snow. It makes sense really,” said William, waving his wand through the air and muttering softly, trying to defrost the engine and the steering column. “Is that better?”

“A bit!” Bradley said.

“Are we going to be able to land?” I asked, panicking.

“A bit,” Bradley repeated, grunting as he struggled with the wheel. William was still muttering incantations next to me, his eyes closed, his brow deeply lined with concentration. As I watched the castle loom closer, I picked up the camera that William had finished working on and slid it into its leather case with the extra flash bulbs, photo-paper and other camera equipment – hoping none of it would be damaged during the landing. The case itself was camouflaged as a large black handbag with a brown suede ribbon and brass clasp.

Bradley descended over Durmstrang in a wide spiral, trying to find somewhere soft to cushion the landing as he struggled with the unresponsive controls. But the visibility was poor, and as Bradley came in for the final approach I was tightening my seatbelt, clutching my disguised camera case and trying not to scream.

“Brace yourselves!” he told us.

“We bloody are,” I growled. William didn’t reply, still murmuring incantations and spells. “William! Seatbelt!” He looked up, as if only just hearing me, and quickly strapped himself in.

“Here we go,” said Bradley as the courtyard loomed suddenly in front of us out of the snow. He pulled heavily on the wheel, angling the car clumsily. I felt the first thump as the front fender bumped off the ground, the wheels thudding heavily through the snow. The back wheels bumped out of the snow too and we arced through the air, coming down once more, heavily. I was being flung around in my seat, my seatbelt straining as I flew up. Bradley was trying to keep the car from swerving to the side, which would lead to it rolling over. He countered each direction the car tried to go, and eventually we stopped abruptly, the weight of the snow in front of us finally overpowering the momentum of the car. The metal creaked and pinged as the temperature adjusted and the structure of the vehicle settled after its trauma.

“Is everyone okay?” asked Bradley.

I breathed out. It must have taken under a minute to land the car but it felt like I hadn’t taken a breath in hours. I looked at William, who was sweeping his hair back into some sort of order, or at least the illusion of it. He looked shaken – his skin pale, his eye darting around crazily.

“William? You alright?” I asked quietly.

“I forgot how much I hate flying,” he said.

“Everyone packed spare underwear, right?” said Bradley.

“What? Yes!” I exclaimed, disgusted.

“Alright, relax, I’m just asking. I mean, the Durmstrang welcoming committee is right outside of this car. I don’t want their first impression of us to be that we shit our pants, alright?”

“But you’re fine with our first impression being that we can’t drive?” I replied.

“Well, that can’t be helped,” said Bradley, a trace of bitterness leaking through his professional tone.

“Sorry,” said William, “I should have ice-proofed it.” 

“Look, can we just get out? Immediately? They must be starting to think we’re dead in here or something!” I snapped, just as the door next to me flew open.

A shadowy face peered in at me, concealed deep within a thick furry hood. Behind it a massive blast of freezing air and snow blew in, and I lost my breath once more with the shock of it. I was only wearing a copper-brown dress, with ribbons across my chest and shoulders, and a light brown jacket with brass buttons. My stockings did nothing to stop the cold air on my legs. I pulled down my flight goggles and put up my collar but it didn’t help either, really. William was putting on a thick woollen scarf. Bradley was shivering in the front seat, leaning around to look at us. Our warmer travelling cloaks were in the trunk with the rest of our luggage. We should really have thought ahead. The shadowy figure said something that, with my limited knowledge of what Russian sounded like,  
“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said in English. “I’m fine.”

“You are cold,” he said in English.

“You can tell, eh?” I said, my breath fogging in the air. He pulled me out of the car roughly, and I was surprised. Balls of crumpled tinfoil and the mug from the tea thermos tumbled out with me, getting lost in the snow almost immediately. I stumbled in it, my ankle-high boots completely inappropriate for the deep snow, and fell against him. My fingers instinctively clung to his thick furry cloak, desperate for warmth and protection from the snowstorm. He threw a similar cloak around me as I looked up into the face of the man, now lit with the light of his wand. He was strikingly handsome, in a cruel sort of way. He had thick, down-turned lips, a long straight nose, a square jaw and sparkling blue eyes. He had a very precise expression and pale, bushy eyebrows that frowned down at me.

“Thank you,” I told him, as William and Bradley struggled out of the car too – Bradley pushing the door against the drifted snow and struggling out through the narrow gap. William immediately rushed to the trunk and pulled out his cloak, wrapping himself in it tightly. His scarf and hair billowed out in the freezing window as he handed Bradley his cloak too.

“What’s your name?” I asked the man who had bundled me in furs.

“Go inside,” he replied in English. He motioned to the other men standing around him, who led the three of us through the biting snow and near-deafening wind. We passed underneath a massive black portcullis and through tall black doors, the wand-light shining off them strangely. Inside the doors there was a tall, bleak stone hall with massive braziers burning along the walls, heating and lighting the stark chamber. The men behind us were shrugging out of their fur cloaks, hanging them on cast iron hooks in the cloakroom to the side of the chamber. The men took our cloaks too – the man with the cruelly handsome face took care helping me remove the heavy garment. I looked up expecting some flicker of interest or at least emotion but he regarded me blankly. If it had been anyone else, I’d have said there was disdain. I suppose I should have expected this sort of attitude, but I was still recovering after being snuggled and warm on an oh-so-English road trip and then crashing in the snow!

In front of us stood several stern looking men and women in long dark robes and tall black wizarding hats. They all had hawkish, sneering faces with high collars clinging to their skinny necks. The women had papery skin covered in liver spots with warts and bristles sticking out of various places on their faces. The men had long, dry, frazzled beards that quivered grotesquely with every movement. They all had thin spidery hands, many of them clinging to staffs and walking sticks for support. I wondered idly if Rasputin was wandering somewhere within the dark halls. Bradley waited patiently to be introduced, so William and I followed his example. Eventually the intense man who had opened my car door for me strode up to Bradley. They exchanged a few words in Russian. The man with the goatee laughed loudly.

“They say hello, that they are pleased we have finally arrived, and trust we are not too disturbed by the landing. I told them that they had not warned us about the storm. That’s… that’s when he laughed and asked me ‘what storm?’ Is there anything you’d like me to tell him?”

“Who is he?” I asked Bradley.

“Oh, he’s the High-master. High-master Lvov.”

“High-master?” William asked.

“That’s what they call headmaster,” Bradley replied impatiently.

“Lvov,” I repeated, and he looked at me with that same disinterested expression.

“Could you tell him we’re pleased to meet him,” William was saying, “That, uh, we’re pleased to make his acquaintance, I guess. What sort of things do people usually say in situations like this?”

“I’ll make something up, shall I?” Bradley suggested, and William nodded thankfully. I was watching Lvov carefully. I recognised his type from when I was in Slytherin. He seemed the kind of smarmy, smug pureblood arsehole that had made school so horrible for me. It was only my friendship with a few other non-Slytherin folks like William that had made my days bearable.

Bradley and Lvov were exchanging tense, brief phrases. Then we were led down the line of staff in front of us, shaking hands and being introduced. Every single one of them shook William’s hand very stiffly, but they were much more relaxed with Bradley and me. When Bradley translated the introduction to one of the staff, a bat-eared man with a beak nose and small, watery, quivering mouth, William became very animated.

“Oh, Doctor Plotski! Yes, I’m very pleased to meet you. I read your book on efficiently transferring the dynamic properties of runes into spoken spells. It was very interesting. I’d love to talk to you more about it at some point,” William rambled while Bradley struggled to keep up with the translation. Plotski frowned, his eyes darting nervously to the side, trying to watch his colleagues. He grimaced, and replied in an ancient papery voice with something that Bradley translated,  
“I believe we may discuss it over dinner tonight, he says. We are, actually. I should have told you about that. There’s a formal dinner,” said Bradley.

“Yes, you should have,” said William.

“Well, well,” I said mischievously, “Looks like you have a date!” 

“Moving on,” said Bradley in a strict tone, and introduced the last of them, all of us shaking hands and very formal nods of heads.

Then we were guided through a great many stone corridors. They were so cold and dark that I was sure my breath was fogging in the air, but I couldn’t see it. I was quite lost after a very short while – there were no windows, no tapestries, no paintings and like I said, not very much lighting. I’d had a bad feeling about this whole thing from the start, but now I was definitely anxious. If somebody wanted to attack me here, in these hallways, I’d have no idea what to do. Bradley was following closely behind me in the herd-like burble of entourage, but when we reached my room it was apparent I’d be sleeping alone in a small, stone room with a wide, flimsy cot, a fur rug and a meagre fireplace. There was a porcelain sink in one corner with a brass tap, dripping into the iron plughole. At least there were no portraits, and there was a lock on the thick oak door. I assumed I would be given a key.

Bradley bustled off with the rest of the group, saying he’d see me at dinner very shortly. The tide of people moved on, leaving behind a meek-looking house-elf like driftwood. I had no idea what to say to the poor thing. I could see signs of frost-scarring on his face. Its eyes were rheumy and dull, its hands shaking, its knees sticking out from beneath a dirty, ragged scrap of animal fur tied around its waist. Usually I’m brilliant at dealing with house-elves. I’m in the information trade, and they hear the most of the information because they’re so lowly regarded. The trouble was that I only spoke a few words of the native language. But I’m nothing if not tricky, and I’ve nothing if not an ace up my sleeve.

There are dozens of secret languages in the world. Most of them are just the languages that develop out of an industry – banking terms, cobbler’s words, shipping broadcasts and so forth. A baker’s dozen, for example. Other languages come from secret societies. Some of them are spoken by whole secret nations, or long dead ones like Latin. I’ve heard about hidden tribes of gypsies still maintaining the old ways. I’ve heard the most ancient tongues of Yiddish and Hebrew spoken. Myself I speak a fair few of these old, near-forgotten, closely-protected tongues. A bit of Mermish, a few of the subtleties of the language of the Dementors, and indeed some of the most sacred words of the house-elf lore. These last are the most hidden, the most secret, and sadly the most forgotten. After all, no one cares about house-elves, let alone their ancient culture. Including most house-elves.

I tried a few of these words to the house-elf in front of me. I said the words for friend, for servitude, and for cooperation. Something you need to understand about the house-elf language is that it’s so old and so fragmented, from long centuries of being downtrodden, that it has lost any grammar. It relies mainly on intuition, which is part of what I like most about it. As I said these things, the house-elf stared at me.

“Lucinda Baker,” I said, motioning at myself.

“Pakobna,” he said, giving me a very long, level look through half-blind eyes. I smiled at him. He vanished in a puff of apparition, and I wondered if I had done the right thing. I was lost deep inside a stone maze, stuck in a stone room, with no friend in the world. If I myself had to apparate, I’d have no idea where to go – not how far nor which direction. I glanced at the fireplace, wondering if it was connected to the floo network, or if it even could be.

I flopped down on the bed, feeling it shift and creak. And then I stared at the ceiling for an incredibly long time, wasting my wakefulness on boredom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I changed into a warmer, woollen pinstriped dress with a white shirt under a bodice for dinner. I had also been experimenting with the camera. It had flashed brightly, leaving a coloured spot dancing in my eyesight. Then I’d been surprised by the camera whirring and clicking quietly and a small, square sheet of paper magically sliding out of a nearly invisible slot at the bottom. It looked blank, but as I peered at it an image started to form slowly of the fireplace.

I’d also been looking through the phrasebook Bradley had given me, failing to memorise many useful phrases. But I stuck to it, trying desperately to fight off slumber. My sleep patterns are irregular at the best of times but having crossed countless time zones and sleeping in the car most of the way here, I was completely messed up.

Eventually the entourage returned, after what felt like an eternity of boredom. I was glad when someone knocked on the door and Bradley joined me again with two of the other teachers. I quickly put the camera back in my bag and followed them – I wasn’t going to leave this fantastic piece of equipment lying around in enemy territory, even if it was my own bedroom.

Winding through the stone passageways again following Bradley and the growing entourage, I tried to memorise the route. I remembered one staircase, and after that it was just a matter of which lefts and rights to take. We went through the main hallway again and turned into a large set of doors, arriving finally in what looked like a grim banqueting hall.

The hall was the same stone as the rest of the castle, but the pillars were slightly more ornate, with grotesque gargoyles staring down at the room with malevolent expressions. An iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, dripping with ancient candle wax, giving off a dim flickering light. There were stern portraits staring down from the walls, folding their arms and overseeing the students silently eating. There was an oppressive sense of being watched by everything, from every angle.

As we walked down the central aisle towards the faculty table I watched the students eating at old circular tables made of thick, rough wood. There were big metal tureens of various soups and stews and gruels which looked decidedly unappetising. It looked like the students were eating out of tin bowls, with coarse, grey, grainy bread rolls on side-plates beside them. I sighed, thinking fondly of the bacon and egg sandwiches we’d eaten on the journey.

As I looked up I saw the head table – it was dressed in pristine white fabric with comfortable-looking high-backed chairs all around it, and a magnificent centrepiece. I looked around at the people at the table, now rising politely to greet us, bowing with stiff formality. There was the scrawny, grim staff from before and a few younger staff members whose eyes burnt with a hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied by any physical food. At the end of the table there was a gaunt bald man with large white pointy ears, red eyes and pointed fangs sticking out of his pursed mouth. He was clearly a vampire. I was surprised. Sure, Hogwarts had once employed a werewolf, but he was heavily medicated and cared for. That just doesn’t work with vampires. I know, I dated one. Killed him too.

Lvov stared into my eyes, gesturing for me to sit in the chair opposite him. We all sat down at the same time, with a creaking of wood and leather. Bradley was sitting between me and William. He was making some small talk that sounded like more gratitude and comments on the décor, so neither me nor William were required to say anything very much.

“What’s your room like?” William asked me, leaning forward around Bradley.

“It seems dangerous,” I said.

“How so?”

“It’s a windowless stone box with only one door. Do I need to explain further?”

“I suppose not,” he commented. “Mine is the same.”

“I don’t think we should sleep alone tonight.”

“At least buy me a drink first,” William joked.

“I mean for safety.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” Bradley muttered, “They wouldn’t ask us here just to kill us.”

“I’m not about to take that risk,” I told him, “Is there some way you could get me a better room? With a window maybe?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Bradley, “That would seem ungracious.”

“Far be it from me to resort to ungraciousness in order to protect my life,” I said sarcastically.

“You worry too much,” Bradley told me. I sighed heavily. In front of me, across the table, Lvov was watching me intently, making me fee slightly uneasy. I nodded another formal greeting at him, and he nodded back, still unwavering in his gaze.

House-elves were progressing down the table silently offering everyone what looked like sparkling white wine. The three of us all accepted, but Bradley stopped me from trying it straight away.

“Medovukha,” said Lvov.

“Pardon?”

“Is Medovukha?” he said, trying to explain.

“It’s the name of the drink,” Bradley told me softly, “It’s a honey-based fermentation. Only slightly alcoholic.”

“Like mead?” said William.

“It smells weird,” I said.

Around us, everyone was standing up, raising their glasses in the air. In front of me Lvov cleared his throat and started singing in a clear, deep voice. Everyone else was joining in, all around the hall; every single student raising his or her voice obediently. I glanced at Bradley and he was just standing there with his glass raised and his mouth shut, so William and I copied him. The song was long and pompous. After five minutes I could detect the chorus every time it came around. After ten minutes the song finished and everyone cheered. Then there was an oath that everyone recited in a droning voice, and some more cheering. The faculty table downed their glasses in one go and started sitting back down, so we copied them.

The drink was sweet, but spicy and herbal. The bubbles brought that strange flavour straight into my nose. It tingled so much that I sneezed. Across the table from me, for a fraction of a second, I might have imagined Lvov smiled slightly. As we sat down, the food appeared on the table. I imagined the kitchen, full of house elves slaving away, and wondered how I’d get to it. But then I caught the aroma of the food.

Amongst the roast chickens and potatoes, sausages, meatballs and platters of steaming fish – between the tureens of various soups, the strange bread rolls and plates of kebabs – there were bowls of the strangest kinds of salads I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some weird ones. I watched the others helping themselves, unsure of the manners in this situation. But everyone was greedily piling their plates high without regard for anyone else, using long, delicate silvery utensils decorated with odd opals. The younger ones were snatching bowls and even actual food from each other using these strange forks and skewers. Shrivelled brown apples, diced pickles and cabbage leaves quickly littered the table, along with drips and dribbles of soup and discarded garnish.

I looked down the table, not knowing what anything was. I thought I’d be safe with some shish kebabs but they were riddled with onions, and I gulped down the first mouthful awkwardly. I imagined Lvov smiled again – his fork and knife were reasonably sized in his large hands. He pointed at some soup with his knife,

“Shchi?” he said.

“Sorry?”

“He offered you some shchi. It’s basically cabbage soup.”

“Is it good?” I asked Lvov, but Bradley replied,

“It varies depending on the chef.”

“Da, is good. Is very good,” Lvov replied. Again I was struck by how rich and deep his voice was, and how his slow, languid, rounded accent almost purred. I ladled some of the shchi into my soup bowl. I tried it – it was scalding hot, but quite delicious. It was slightly sour, salty and spicy. I think I felt the texture of chicken and carrots, and cabbage obviously. I nodded my grudging approval to Lvov, who did nothing but eat his own soup, sipping reservedly. Next to me, Bradley and William were discussing the various faculty sitting at the table. I listened, half-interested, to what Bradley had tried to tell us in the car – except I was mostly asleep and William had been obsessed with tinkering. Mainly I was watching Lvov.

One of the teachers at the end of the table was asking something to Bradley, who translated for William,

“He wants to know how you first came up with the idea.”

“Uh, well, I was just wondering one day about how small a gear or cog could be before it became useless. It wasn’t anything particularly dramatic,” said William. Bradley translated as William continued, “Funny how ideas strike you. There’s that story about how Einstein came up with his theory of relativity by watching the trains out of his window at the patent office.”

There were many interested faces turning towards William now, and none of the expressions were friendly. The young teacher, full of questions but with a snide, almost evil face, asked something else.

“He wants to know who Einstein is.”

“Ah,” said William, “Tell them he’s a noted muggle scientist,” William said, looking around him at the faces.

“Shall I make something up again?”

“Maybe,” said William.

Bradley said something brief. The young teacher said something with a particularly snide expression and the people listening to him sniggered quietly. Some glanced at William, others delicately speared food and lifted it to their wrinkled maws.

“What did he say?” said William, slurping a big spoonful of soup noisily.

“It’s some sort of local joke. It doesn’t really translate well,” said Bradley, smoothly. William slurped the soup even more noisily.

I sensed Lvov watching me again, and turned my eyes down to my own soup bowl and swallowed the last of it. Then I looked up at him expectantly.

“Kholodets?” he said, motioning to a large silver plate of what looked like jelly.

“What is it?” I asked. Lvov said something that I could almost understand – I think it was something about not being able to understand me. Next to me, Bradley was busily translating stuff for William, so I decided to try out what little language I might have learnt from the phrasebook.

“What is?” I think I asked. And then he proceeded to explain at great length, in his deep, resonant voice and growling accent. I had no idea what he was saying, but his voice was so relaxing and soothing that I helped myself to a quite large heap of the strange jelly-like food.

I tried it, and my disgusted reaction brought a proper, fleeting smile of amusement to Lvov’s face. It was some sort of meat-flavoured jelly, with boiled eggs and chicken set into it. The texture and flavour were both genuinely revolting, but I saw the twinkle still shining in Lvov’s face.

“You like?” I asked in Russian, pointing at the ‘kholodets’. He nodded slightly,

“Yes, is good,” he said in English.

“You want?” I asked in Russian.

“Oh yes, very,” he said, and I blushed. I lifted up my plate, offering to spoon the weird meat-jelly onto his plate. I knew it’d be bad manners, but with the mess everyone else was making of their food and the table, I figured no one would mind. I really wanted this jelly filth off my plate. He held out his, accepting, and I delicately scraped the kholodets away.

The whole table had fallen silent, watching us. Some eyes were wide with astonishment, others were narrow with suspicion and judgement. I withdrew my empty plate, looking around me bashfully.

“Could you ask someone to pass that fish?” William asked Bradley, breaking the silence. As he looked up, he looked around him, “Was it something I said?”

Lvov was staring around with a haughty expression, peering at the man next to him. It looked like some sort of unspoken challenge. The old man slowly looked down at his plate and began eating with his ridiculously long, ornate skewer once more. Having stared down his deputy or whatever, Lvov turned back to his food, as did everyone else. William was looking from me to Lvov curiously. Through his eyebrows Lvov glanced up at me, and half-smiled. I smiled back demurely, looking over the table again for what to eat next. There was a bread-like pie thing that was greasy and stuffed with some sort of mince, beetroot and yet more onion and cabbage, but you could hardly taste them. Some sort of donut-pasty thing. It was weird but I quite liked it. I looked up at Lvov, and sure enough, he was looking at me.

A house elf was offering me beer at my side. He was offering me a glass bottle from a large tray – some sort of Cyrillic writing covered the label in various fonts. The red-nosed white-bearded man on the label looked very jolly and drunk. The picture winked at me jovially and held up his beer stein, toasting me. I accepted the offer and a similar stein appeared on the table in front of me. I took a big gulp of it, and it was good.

“Novgorod,” said Lvov.

“The beer?” I replied.

“Yes. Novgorod beer.”

“Bradley? What does Novgorod mean?”

“It’s where the beer comes from. It’s been brewed there almost as long as this school has existed.”

“Fascinating,” I told Lvov in English, and then, “What’s this?” I asked about the bread-pie thing.

“Pirozhki,” he told me. I repeated the word happily, and Lvov smiled again, this time directly at me. William was still looking at the both of us, and inside I grinned mischeviously.

“Doctor Plotski would like to know how you solved the problem of friction and overheating,” Bradley said to William.

“Uh, that is a very good question,” William said awkwardly.

“He says surely there’s a problem with torque ratios when you scale up an axle into normal space,” Bradley translated, “I don’t know what that means, so I can’t make anything up.”

“It means he hasn’t looked at the actual design properly,” said William. Bradley started to translate, but William interrupted him, “No, no! Don’t tell him that. Tell him that the solution is enchanted bellows, pumping freezing air through the ventilation system and out of the heat sink.”

“He wants to know if there is a more efficient solution.”

“Well, I suppose you could have Freon in the pipes but then the bellows would seize up.”

“He wants to know what Freon is”, Bradley said.

“Seriously? Jesus, this is breaking my heart. I thought he was one of Durmstrang’s most eminent sorcerers. Doesn’t even know what Freon is,” William muttered.

“What shall I tell him?”

“Oh, just tell him muggles use it to keep their food refridgerated.”

“I’m not sure-”

“Look, let’s not drag it out,” said William, “Just tell him.”

Bradley translated it and Plotski nodded thoughtfully, looking down at his food with a frown. Across the table everyone exchanged meaningful looks and the snide teacher from before made another comment. William gulped down the rest of his beer and looked around for the house-elf with the tray of bottles,

“So what did they say?”

“He made a joke about how they’re too stupid to just use the snow outside,” Bradley replied, somewhat hesitantly. William sighed heavily,

“Seriously? Is that what he actually said?”

“Yeah.”

“And… they do know that there are places in the world that don’t even get snow?”

“I think we should just let it go,” said Bradley.

“You know these guys helped with the designs for the in-pod navigation system of the first phase of my big project?”

“I didn’t know that, no. Should I thank them?”

“I’m not sure I want to work with them again.”

“You should calm down,” I told him, quietly. People were beginning to watch us again, intrigued by William’s growing frustration. He sighed, and drank the beer the house-elf gave him quickly.

I helped myself to several more of the pirozhki, and it turned out each one had a different filling. This new one I was eating had pickled apple and pork, and was even tastier than the last one.

“Is good?” Lvov asked me. I nodded, my mouth too full to speak. Lvov took several of them as well, and we shared a brief moment of what could only be described as a silent toast with food – we both had a forkful of pirozhki, and we raised it to each other before eating it. I thought it was quite sweet that we were getting on so well despite not speaking each other’s language, even if he was quite intense and rarely took his eyes off me.

“Is that thing at the end of the table drinking blood?” William asked Bradley.

“I think it’s probably red wine,” he replied.

“Could you ask Lvov?”

“Uh… I suppose so…” said Bradley, and muttered something to Lvov that sounded like a question. He peered down at the end of the table, raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A house-elf snuck up to his side and Lvov muttered something. A few seconds later the same house-elf was at William’s elbow with a decanter of rich dark-red liquid. A wine glass appeared in front of him and the house-elf filled it.

“What did you say to him?” asked William, looking at the wine.

“You were commenting that his red wine looked excellent,” Bradley explained while Lvov stared at them briefly. It gave me a chance to study the rest of the table. Although they were still murmuring and eating in their grotesque way, they were all looking sideways at William. I recognised those looks – they were the subtle glances of people expecting a big payoff very shortly. They were bullies, trying not to give away their incoming prank.

“No, I was bloody asking if the school was actually serving blood to a monster at the dinner table,” growled William.

“Well, they’re not. He said that it’s wine.”

“And now I have some?”

“Apparently,” said Bradley.

“Well, that’s not so bad then, eh?” William said, cautiously. He tried the wine and sure enough, he was disgusted. “Oh my god, it _is_ blood. Fuck,” he said, the liquid still in his mouth. The table erupted in laughter, the young ones smacking the table in hysterics, causing more food and cutlery to be flung into the air. The old man next to me had a snivelling, wheezing, snickering laugh that made me feel sick. Leaning around Bradley I watched poor William look around, blood leaking out of the corners of his mouth, dribbling slowly down his face. Blinking back tears, he swallowed purposefully. I grimaced – it looked absolutely vile. I’ve never really understood how vampires can stomach it, let alone enjoyed watching it.

There was a look in William’s eye that I’m not sure I’ve ever really seen. I might have seen something like it, once, when he was at his most devious. The expression now crossing his face was quite a lot worse. He worried me.

“Bradley, please translate. Don’t make anything up, right?” said William, coughing with disgust but standing up anyway. He held the glass of dark red blood in his hand. Bradley rushed to keep up as William said, “I’d like to thank the High-master for the gift of this surely expensive and precious drink. I know that it’s an incredibly important beverage, for some more than others,” he said, and gestured widely to the vampire at the end of the table. Bradley was clearly keeping up with the translation because some of the teachers let out an evil, vindictive chuckle. I looked around and it seemed that only the stupid ones were entertained – the smart ones were looking wary.

“But I cannot let this generosity go unseen, unacknowledged, nor unshared neither. Ladies and gentlemen,” he pronounced, and I was reasonably stunned to find that there were women at the table with us, “Please, may each of you share in the kind, warm spirit that we find in the heart of this cold land.” William had slowly been withdrawing his wand, and now summoned up a small shot glass for each of the people at the table. “Please ask the High-master if he would care to oblige,” said William, grinning. Bradley translated this last bit with a certain tone of misery, and Lvov nodded, once, sternly. A house-elf appeared with that same decanter of blood and filled each shot glass full of it.

At this stage I was grinning unashamedly until I noticed I had one of the glasses of blood as well. The only one at the table who didn’t have one was the vampire at the end, who looked thoroughly distressed at this turn of events. Nonetheless, everyone was standing up, taking the shot glass and holding it in front of them. William was looking around him with a maniac grin – displaying his teeth rather than smiling. He lead the toast and Bradley translated,

“To the generosity of the High-master!” William said loudly, and drank the wine glass full of blood in one massive gulp. Wholly embarrassed now, the rest of the staff were forced to copy him. I lifted the glass to my lips – it was still warm – and pretended to drink but didn’t actually let any of the foul stuff into my mouth. I can’t have been the only one to think of this but from the look of some people’s faces, not everyone had. The idiots who had laughed before were now looking nauseated, their faces practically turning green. I looked cautiously at Lvov, now so close to me, also holding a shot glass full of blood. From the level of the fluid in his glass and the stain on his lips I assumed he had only pretended to drink as well. He had a strange expression on his face. It was mostly stern indignity but as everyone sat down with a creak of the chair legs, I thought I saw a look of sincere entertainment on his face.

William was sitting down too, trying to conceal his disgust and repulsion. His wine glass was absolutely empty. He had been eating with gusto before, sampling all the various foods gleefully, but now he was merely picking miserably at his food with a long, ornate fork. I looked at Lvov, wondering how vindictive the High-master would become now. But instead he discreetly summoned a bottle of genuine red wine onto the table and leaned across to pour William a glass, then himself. He raised it much more informally now, toasting without words. William smiled grimly and they both drank together. After trying the wine, William seemed happier, in a bitter sort of way. The most paranoid part of me suspected poisoning by some sort of happy-potion, but most of me thought this was a really sweet gesture and an appeal towards peace after an uncomfortable and awkward session of masculine posturing.

For another half an hour we made a show of enjoying the feast in front of us, but few people had the appetite. The display of bizarre manners and strange consumption of food had thankfully ceased, along with the spray of crumbs and detritus. I enjoyed a few more bun-pie things, some pickled apple and potato salad and some of the wine William and Lvov were drinking. But otherwise, the table was full of the sound of forks scraping against porcelain. Slowly the students behind me filtered out of the room, breaking up into small groups and murmuring as they left. I assumed they were going to their dormitories for the night, or wherever the students slept in this horrible school.

We all made a show of enjoying the food for a while longer. None of the faculty were asking William any more questions. Even Lvov was reluctant to talk to me anymore about the names of the foods. Eventually, when the last of the students left, he turned to his sickly-faced deputy.

“Vodka?” he suggested.

The deputy nodded thankfully, as did most of the others. Some of them stood and bade us an incredibly formal farewell for the night. Bradley translated their empty platitudes easily, with an air of relief. I gathered that the overly formal portion of the meal was over, and everyone concerned with it had now departed. William seemed to be quite happy to leave too, but Bradley silently urged him to stay. As the shot glasses were replaced full of clear, sparkling vodka, Bradley quietly said to us,

“This is the fun part!”

Lvov said something, and everyone remaining at the table downed the spirit in one synchronised motion. William and I followed the example of Bradley, who was in time with the others. It was ice-cold, and the fumes filled my nose. Across the table from me, Lvov took a sip of his wine. House-elves were already distributing more vodka from glass bottles, but there didn’t seem to be any formality attached to drinking it. Lvov drank his as it arrived, and a third was poured for him. I drank some of my wine demurely, wondering at his competitive nature.

Bradley had been saying something in Russian, and a conversation struck up between him and a few others at the table. William was sitting quietly, watching me and Lvov exchange glances. Several more shots of vodka were poured down our throats as the others whose names I didn’t know excused themselves gradually from the table.

“We should get to sleep at some point,” William muttered.

“Well, you know where your room is, right?” said Bradley.

“Aren’t you supposed to be my bodyguard?”

“Well, yes. But my favourite part of the meal is this,” he slurred, and picked up another shot glass. “Whenever I come here, I always enjoy this the most. Why would you take that away from me?”

“Alright, fine! Good grief, there’s no need to get so emotional. Also, no, I don’t know where my room is.”

“Miss Baker, you know where yours is, right?” Bradley asked me. I shrugged.

“I’m sure I can find it,” I said, glancing at Lvov, who was looking at us like he could follow the conversation.

Eventually it was just us and Lvov sitting at the table. I’ll admit that my vision was slightly blurry and my judgement fairly impaired but I’ve always prided myself on being able to hold my booze. Next to me, Bradley and William were looking much more bleary than I was. I couldn’t tell how drunk Lvov was, really.

“Your friends, drunk?” he said to me in English. I nodded, entertained as William made Bradley repeat the route back to their rooms again and again. He grinned back, “And you?” I shook my head, and he looked sceptical.

“I’m not!” I insisted girlishly, and he held up his vodka glass. I held up mine too, and we drank together. In front of him, amidst the abandoned plates covered in scraps and the accumulated crumbs of the filthy tablecloth, there was a small wall of upside down shot glasses. I had a similar cluster of shot glasses but mine were much less neatly arranged.

“You not drunk?” he said, and pulled a knife from his boot. The handle was long and dark handle while the blade was old and vaguely rusty, apart from the keenly shining knife edge. Before I had time to be surprised, Bradley had his wand out astonishingly quickly, and was on his feet pointing it at Lvov. “Is okay!” Lvov was insisting, “Is for show. Watch,” he said, as Bradley put his wand away and slowly, cautiously sat back down.

“I fucking hate knives,” William said, scratching beneath his eye patch.

Lvov had cleared some space on the table in front of him and laid his hand on the table with his fingers spread. As I watched, open-mouthed with astonishment, he stabbed the blade quickly in the gap between each of his fingers, left to right then right to left. He was moving terrifyingly fast. Finished with his display, he handed the knife to me handle-first.

“Not drunk? Go on,” he told me, with a smirk. I looked him in the eye, long and steady, wondering about my options. I took the knife and looked at that too, feeling warmth in the side that was against his ankle. I shook my head, handing the knife back to him,

“Alright, maybe I’m a little bit drunk.”

“On that note, I’m going to bed,” William said, lurching to his feet. I could see the jealousy in his drunken face, and felt slightly bad, but also mischievously entertained. William bowed good night to Lvov who didn’t even get up, dodged the house-elf with the vodka and meandered down the length of the empty dining hall doing his best to avoid banging into the wooden stools. His footsteps echoed away.

“What about you?” Bradley asked me.

“Oh, I think I’ll be fine,” I told him, “Are you off as well, then?”

“Might as well,” he slurred.

“Listen, Bradley, why aren’t you more concerned?”

“What do you mean?”

“After that nonsense with the blood? And I’m sure they’ve been saying stuff about William being a mudblood the whole time.”

“With all due respect, you’re being paranoid, like I said before. It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about that sort of thing. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, bright and early.”

“Sleep well,” I said. I watched him as he got up but didn’t bother to turn around as he left the hall. It was just me and Lvov, who was sheathing the knife back in his boot.

“How we talk now?” he asked, staring at me with those deep blue eyes of his.

“You know, I think you probably speak better English than you’ve been letting on.”

“What?” said Lvov, genuinely frowning.

“You… uh, speak English,” I think I said in Russian.

“No,” he said in English.

“Yes!” I said, smiling.

“No,” he insisted, smiling back.

I learned forward across the table, and said brightly, “In that case I would love for you to ride me into the night, not satisfied until I’m screaming your name over and over again.”

Lvov choked on his wine.

In my defence, I was very drunk, despite what I was insisting. But my gambit had worked. I sat back in my chair smugly, and drank another shot of vodka. I’m not usually that forward but he was a very handsome man.

“Alright, maybe I speak more English than I say,” he said, but his accent was still thick. It made my skin shiver pleasingly.

“Why do you pretend, with all that ‘Me no speak language of you’ nonsense?”

Looking around the big hall, he suddenly seemed to remember where he was. A furtive, cautious look crept into his eyes. He learned forwards,

“It’s not safe to talk here,” he muttered softly, “Would you come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“To my chambers,” he whispered. My skin was all goosepimply – partly excitement, and partly the growing cold of the room.

“Okay,” I said, and we both stood. As we left the now empty great hall, I flipped my middle finger at one of the ugly, creepy gargoyles. Lvov laughed, and it was so rich and deep that I couldn’t help but stop and stare at him. He sounded uncomfortable with it, too, and I wondered about how stern he usually was. This school was enough to turn anyone into the grumpiest, most stone-faced of people, after all.

As we left the hall, the braziers started to extinguish themselves. The glass lamps that were hanging from the ceiling had been mostly extinguished, apart from the bare minimum required to see. They smelt of burnt fat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

****

“We must be quiet,” he told me, “The teachers and professors patrol the corridors.”

“Can’t you just tell them you’re escorting me back to my room?”

He gave me a strange look,

“But… that would also be improper.”

“This is a very strict school, isn’t it,” I slurred, trying to whisper.

“I suppose,” he said, “But so is our whole culture. We are made strong by our discipline, and powerful. Forgive me for mentioning, I am sure the memories are still fresh, but our Magical Department would never allow itself to be conquered by one single wizard, whether or not he’s immortal.”

“You’re talking about… about The Nameless One,” I said, whispering, glancing up and down the dark corridor.

These days I’m not usually scared of talking about Voldemort. The wizard himself was terrifying, yes. I didn’t use his name during the wars and I won’t even now, but it’s just a cultural stigma now rather than a practical consideration. However in this castle brimming with danger and darkness, I couldn’t help but feel a tremor of nervousness.

“I am,” he said as we walked down the corridor. I watched him as we passed underneath one of the lit lamps, our footsteps echoing over the stone floor. “If your Dumbledore and Hagrid Potter hadn’t fought so hard against him, I’m certain the rest of your meek and cowardly wizards would have been taught the strength of discipline in time.”

“It’s Harry Potter,” I corrected him absent-mindedly, “Hagrid is the name of a man who helped him.”

“Hagrid…? Ah yes! Hagrid the hairy giant-hybrid. That is something else. Your lack of discipline has polluted the very blood of your people, and you have half-giants and gryaznokrovka being treated like the most powerful wizards. Your banks are run by goblins. And you free your elves!” he said with revulsion.

“You’re starting to sound like a Nazi,” I muttered, growing cool. 

“What’s a Nazi?” he asked.

“What’s a… graz… nov… kra? Was that it?” I asked him in response.

“Shush, do you hear something?” he said, silencing me. I could hear someone else’s footsteps, somewhere in the dark maze of corridors. “This way,” he whispered, and led me by the hand, running as silently as possible. I stumbled after him, the alcohol still bubbling in my brain. Part of me wanted to start giggling, but the serious way he was treating the risk of discovery warned me against it. He led me around one of the corners into a passage full of ten-foot high statues set into recesses. They were lit strangely by the minimal lamps, each of them staring down at us angrily in the darkness. We hid behind some aeons-old statue of an ancient wizard, disturbing cobwebs and dust. There wasn’t much room – me and Lvov were squeezed together tightly.

As I ran my fingers through my own hair, trying to get the spiders out and gasping with disgust, Lvov put his finger on my lips.

“Be silent,” he ordered me, and I looked up at him with big, anxious eyes. Rather than squirming around to lower my hand, I pressed it against his firm, panting chest beneath his thick, coarse robe. He looked down at me with a similar stern expression while he strained his ears to listen for the footsteps. They were slowly approaching us.

He squeezed against me harder, pushing us back into the wall behind the statue. Whoever was on patrol was coming down the corridor of statues. I found myself holding my breath and hiding myself deeper in his robes. As the footsteps approached us, they paused. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, and Lvov’s too-hot breath on my forehead.

In school the pureblood bastards had always picked on me. Before I learned how to prevent it, I’d had to run, as embarrassing as that is to admit. But I remember the terror of being cursed by big ugly older boys, praying that I’d find a teacher somewhere in that dark dungeon, or somewhere to hide. As an adult it was worse, because I was so much more aware of the evil things one wizard could do to another. Despite Lvov’s reassuringly solid presence, I still felt all that old anxiety and fear building up inside me. I was biting down on my lip from nervous habit.

From the other side of the statue, someone muttered something, and I could feel Lvov relax. The footsteps began again, pacing away down the flagstones with a bored patience. We waited behind that statue for several more minutes. I was blushing intently, from the growing pressure against my lower belly from beneath Lvov’s robes. My lip hurt where I was biting it.

Long after the footsteps had died away, he looked down at me. He tilted my head, his finger beneath my chin, studying me closely.

“You are bleeding,” he told me in a whisper, his voice rumbling and throaty, his accent thick. I was so anxious I’d drawn blood from my lip. He tilted my head, his finger beneath my chin. He gently wiped the blood from my lip and I watched as he licked his finger clean. Then he leant down and kissed me suddenly.

The buzz of the vodka returned happily. His mouth was cold, and his lips were dry. I ran hands down his back when he pulled me out from behind the statue. We ran out of the corridor, sneaking off through the passages once more. We went up two flights of stairs and around so many corners that I lost track again, eventually we arrived at a passage with a dead end. He muttered something in Russian and the large stone blocks of the castle slid aside. They folded over one another with a deep, gritty grinding noise. They revealed a black iron door, carved with deep engravings and a thick metal hoop in the middle.

Lvov waved his strange, white and slightly curved wand at the door, which clanked and creaked upwards into the ceiling.

“What kind of wand is that?”

“Wolf bone with a core of gorgon hair,” he said proudly, standing to the side. I ignored my own paranoia and walked into his office, with several other doorways leading off it.

The room was pitch black, made of the same cold, ancient stone. The room was bare apart from one huge, wooden desk with candles along the front that magically sprouted flames as I walked in. In front of the desk was a simple wooden stool, but behind the desk was a gigantic black chair carved with eagles and bears, with black leather cushioning and steely studs. A pot of ink, a long black quill and several rolls of parchment were the only things on it. I imagined being a student, or even a teacher, receiving a telling off from Lvov sitting behind that desk. I won’t lie, it was a bit thrilling.

“What’s your first name?” I asked him as he led me to one of the doorways, and up the staircase beyond it.

“Lyev,” he told me.

“Lyev Lvov?” I said, jokingly disbelieving.

“Don’t treat it lightly. I am the fifth generation of my family to bear the name,” he said haughtily, “My full name is Lyev Daniil Oleg Lvov the Fifth.”

“Can I call you Daniil?” I asked, picking the name that I’d have least trouble with. He smiled,

“Nobody has ever called me that. I would like it,” he said as we finally reached the top of the staircase.

We were in a much more homely space, but still bathed in shadow and surrounded by dark corners. The light came from a high chandelier near the ceiling, shining with dozens of crystals. There were bookshelves along the walls, and many of the shelves held trophies and sepia photographs of Lvov, or Daniil, shaking hands with important-looking wizards. There was a board on the wall with medals, and a pair of impressive swords crossed on a black shield. There was a white bearskin rug in front of the massive stone fireplace. The bed was a giant four-poster thing with silk sheets and plush, soft-looking pillows. But the most impressive thing was the huge window with lead lacing.

I was speechless as I gazed out of the window. The high snow-covered mountains glowed, bathed in moonlight, beneath stars brighter than I’d ever seen before. The full moon was shining high above them, with far off cloud drifting across the mountaintops. Beneath me there were cliffs and snow-covered pine trees disappearing down into the valley below, hidden by the steep cliff walls. It took my breath away. It was definitely much better than the room I’d been given. As I stood there staring, I felt Daniil come up behind me, kissing my shoulder as he removed my handbag and leaving it on one of the shelves.

I turned and removed my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. I undid the few buttons on my shirt, leaving my corset, heels, and underwear on. I felt a small thrill at being so naked and exposed in front of him while he was still fully dressed. I watched him as he looked over me. I heard a low growl and saw a spark in his eyes as he suddenly closed the gap between us. He pushed me against the glass of the window and I gasped in shock at the coldness. He looked at me like I was his prey as I stood rigid against the glass, with his hands on either side of my head he leaned in and whispered in my ear,

“You were correct. I am not going to be satisfied until you scream my name.”

I started kissing him again, reaching up around his neck to hold the back of his head, stroking his neck and his cheeks. I shrugged the long black robes off his shoulders, with their crest and fur lining. I clumsily undid the buttons on his tunic and he helped me pull the thin cotton shirt over his head. Beneath that he was wearing what looked like coarse briefs, which I yanked off him mischievously.

There was very little fat to him; his arms were lean and taught, the flesh clinging to his muscles. His torso was the same. He held me tight against his naked chest as he kissed me, his hands running over the back of the corset until he reached my bare ass, pulling me onto the bearskin rug. The fur tickled against my skin, and we rolled over each other, almost wrestling. He bit me on the shoulder, and I scratched him down the back. I ran my hand along his shaft, thrilling at its smoothness. He grabbed my hands and held them above my head, and started kissing my breasts and neck. From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of sliver as he brought his knife up. My eyes widened with sudden fear as he ran the knife down the laces of the corset. The back edge of the knife ran down my chest and stomach and it felt like lightning. I felt a sudden release that made my head dizzy, and the fabric fell away from me like a chrysalis.

His lips and tongue peppered my body, slowly working down my torso. I squirmed and giggled as his long hair and kisses tickled my hips. I gasped when his tongue encircled my clitoris, adding to the growing sensation between my legs.

“Do you have a condom?” I managed to say between gasps, clutching at his muscular shoulder.

“What?” he mumbled.

“N-nevermind!” I stammered.

“Is everything okay? It’s been a while since I was with anyone,” he said uncertainly, looking at me over my breasts.

“Yes! Don’t stop!” I urged him. He grinned and my back arched as he continued. I’m sure he was writing out the Russian alphabet with his tongue. I looked up at the ceiling and its mural of the astrological signs as I felt his powerful hands against my buttocks, and then he stood up suddenly. I gasped up at him, scandalised, and he smirked down at me. 

“Do you want anything?” he asked me, and I must have looked confused because he turned and strode over to one of the shelves. He was confident in his nakedness, and I couldn’t help but stare at the way his muscles moved beneath his pale skin.

He took a box from the shelf, lifted the wooden lid and displayed me the contents. There were several black leather pouches and a dozen small white vials. Each one was engraved with something in a silver script.

“What are they?” I asked.

“Have you ever tried dragon powder before?”

“No? What is it?”

“It’s… well, it will be like nothing you’ve ever had,” he said. “Powdered dragon bone. Very expensive,” he said with a smug sort of shrug.

“What’s in the vials?”

“Vials?”

“The white bottles,” I said, pointing.

“This one will make me bigger,” he held one up, “And this one will make me last longer.”

“Oh wow,” I said, eyeing his thick, surprisingly purple-ish penis and wondering how much bigger it would grow. “Can we just stick to the dragon powder?”

He took out one of the leather patches and put the box back on the shelf with what I assumed was longing. He took a pinch out for himself and inhaled it deeply through his nose. He offered me the pouch, and I copied him. In retrospect this was probably a bad idea, but on the other hand… 

My skin was tingling all over. My eyes felt fidgety and there was heat in my crotch. I looked at Daniil. He seemed to be vibrating with pent up energy. I got up and kissed him, feeling his length against me, and kissed him much more slowly, with more attitude. It felt fantastic just to touch him, and feel my skin against his.

Suddenly he was lying me down and entering me. I gasped again, my toes curling. His hand was around my neck, his other holding my leg tightly over his hip. I looked up into his intense blue eyes as he stared down at me, his cheeks flush with pleasure and excitement. I found myself hypnotised by his powerful gaze, but gasped as he grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to roll over, pulling me up by the hips and re-entering me. I dug my fingers into the rug and shut my eyes tightly, letting out a moan of pleasure.

As we thrust and ground onto each other on the bearskin rug, warmed by the fire, overlooking the view of the moonlit mountains, the pleasure crested inside of me and I shuddered violently, feeling the tension suddenly release. Daniil sensed it, and slowed down, but didn’t stop. He gripped my thighs firmly, pulling himself deeper and deeper into me, slowly and intensely. As the stimulation built back up, we both had an orgasm together, and I felt his throbbing head pulsing deep inside me. He slowly eased out of me, and I relaxed onto the furry rug. He lay next to me on his back, grunting with satisfaction. We lay there, basking in the warmth of the fire for several minutes in relaxed, sweaty peace.

“Blimey,” I muttered, catching my breath. He turned to look at me and his blue eyes bored through me once more,

“What is blimey?”

“It’s a good thing,” I explained, and rolled over to nuzzle into his shoulder. He looked at me strangely suddenly.

“What is this?”

“What do you mean? I’m just lying here,” I said.

“It must be strange to be so unguarded,” he said thoughtfully, turning his head to look out of the window. He seemed to still have a lot of energy, but his body was tired – instead he was becoming talkative and thoughtful. 

“You think I’m unguarded?”

“Whenever I have been with a woman before, it was… not fun,” he said sadly.

“Even with the potions and powders? You’ve been with the wrong women,” I observed, kissing his shoulder.

“I have been with women of good breeding,” he said, “They’re from families as noble as mine.”

“No wonder it wasn’t fun.”

He looked at me strangely again, sighed deeply, and struggled up to his feet, pulling me with him.

“Would you like a nightcap?”

“More vodka?” I asked hopefully.

We drank another shot each, lying on the bed, me on my front with my feet in the air and him lying with his back against the big fluffy white pillows. We were underneath a big four-poster canopy, with the view from the big window still stunningly large.

“The werewolves will be out tonight,” he said, motioning to the moon.

“Are there many around here?”

“We keep trying to hunt them down, but they are cunning and elusive beasts. I have killed several while they’re in their wolf skins,” he boasted.

“I killed a vampire once,” I said, competing once more, but he looked at me like I was crazy.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because he was killing people.”

“Well, that is what a vampire does. It preys upon the untamed herd, ensuring that only the strong survive.”

“Tell that to the weak. Oh, what was that word you used before?” I asked.

“Which one?”

“Grakko-something. Grazko-novocaine?”

“I don’t… Oh! Do you mean gryaznokrovka?” he said, suddenly remembering.

“That’s the one.”

“A gryaznokrovka is a wizard made out of… what is the word you use? Muggles. The freak wizards who dirty our bloodlines.”

What a shame. And it hadn’t been too bad a night up to now. This was killing the last of the buzz I’d got from the dragon powder. It had lasted barely any time, or maybe we’d been playing on the rug for far longer than I realised.

“You know, Professor Doctor Grey is one of them. We call them mud-bloods where I come from,” I said, holding the bitterness out of my voice. Despite this, I still found him attractive as hell. His poise, his cruelty, and the sheer danger of being with him. I wondered what he’d say or do if I told him I was a gryaznokrovka too.

“Mud and blood. Yes, very appropriate,” he was musing, “But your Professor Doctor Grey is some sort of strange exception. I wonder whether he isn’t lying about his lineage for some reason. Are there many dishonoured families in your country? He must be from a very great clan that has been shamed. That is what I think,” he said, and swallowed another gulp of vodka.

“I’m not sure we have many dishonoured families,” I said, which was a lie.

“His family must have done something very terrible for him to be so desperate. To lie about being of mudded blood,” he shook his head in disbelief. “It is a wonder your government lets someone run free, who is that shamed and that clever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said impatiently, rolling off the bed and slipping myself beneath the bed sheets properly, “My culture is weak and undisciplined. You told me already.”

“I mean no offence,” he said, caught off-guard.

“We should get some sleep. You’ll probably want me to leave early and sneak back to my own room, before anyone sees me.”

“Well, yes. Of course,” he said, frowning again. I felt sort of bad, shutting him down like this, but he was being a bastard about my friend.

Lvov pulled his underwear back on and waved his wand, extinguishing the high chandelier, but leaving the fire burning. As he got under the covers with me, I noticed the orange firelight shining off his lean body, making him seem sinister. He lay straight out like a soldier, his arms by his side. He made no attempt to reach out to me, or draw me close.

“You know, the first wizards came from muggles,” I muttered as I buried myself in the blanket, lying on my front with my arms underneath the pillow.

“That’s blasphemy,” he said warningly. I suddenly imagined ignorant cave-wizards, waving wands made of bone.

“Let’s not talk about politics,” I sighed.

“Agreed,” he said, and an uncomfortable silence descended onto the darkened room.

“Can I use your toilet?” I asked, awkwardly breaking the tension, getting up and pulling on my own underwear. I grabbed my handbag from the bookshelf as well.

“Yes. It is down the stairs and in the third doorway to the clockwise left.”

“What? Oh, never mind, I’ll find it. I’ll be back in a bit,” I told him, picking up his long black robe off the floor and padding off into the cold stairwell.

“What is a bit?” he asked.

“Several minutes,” I clarified, wrapping the robe around me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

It was cold and dark in his office, and my bare feet were freezing against the naked, wintry stone. I had no idea which door was the third doorway to the clockwise left. As I wandered around his massive, intimidating office it looked like an evil reception area now that I stood behind the desk. Sitting on one corner of the desk was a jar with a green fluid and a strange, preserved hunk of something organic. As I looked at it and my footsteps echoed throughout the tall chamber, the contents of the jar swirled. From inside the glass a tiny, beady red eye was staring at me. It blinked. After trying briefly to stare it down, I chose to ignore it and find the bathroom. 

I picked a door at random. In the room behind it there were many desks, each of them covered with all manner of magical equipment. I could see crystal balls of various sizes and designs, dozens of little silvery spinning instruments with flashing glassy beads and lots of astrology charts. I picked up one of the many hand-held mirrors and the fog beyond the enchanted glass swirled. It only showed me darkness, but I heard someone snoring from inside. The snoring stopped suddenly with a snort and a massive reptilian eye opened in the darkness, glowing with a low green light. It stared at me unblinking. I put the mirror down carefully and the eye vanished. I picked up another. It was a top-down view of some sort of massive workshop, full of red-hot steel and smoke and steam, with tiny figures working amongst it. There was movement everywhere. There were wheelbarrows carting around thick piles of filings and discarded rocks, and long rows of people hammering metal into shape on anvils. It might have been the last of the dragon powder but I had the sudden sensation that I was peering down into hell. I nearly dropped it in my haste to put it down. I resolved to not pick up another, but on the far wall of the large room there was a giant, shining mirror in an ornate gold frame, and I couldn’t help but give myself a passing glance. My eyes were still wild, my hair was charmingly messed up, and his robe made me look tiny in a sea of black fabric.

As I looked at myself the image swam and turned to fog. One of the first things I learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts class was never to spend any time with a suspicious mirror, but the picture behind the glass had already intrigued me. It was William, sleeping awkwardly on his bed. He had at least tugged his eye patch up over his forehead, and it dangled from his limp fingers. He hadn’t made it beneath his duvet, or even out of his clothes. From my viewing angle I could see his doorway, and the small white square of paper lying just inside of it. I’d have to remember to ask him about it tomorrow but for now there was nothing I could do.

As I turned to leave the room I saw a gigantic map on the same wall as the door. I’d seen enchanted maps like this before, but none with such exquisite calligraphy and illustration. The parchment was ancient and crumbled, but the ink had obviously kept up with the changes made to the castle structure. I could see little icons of people moving around – mostly sleeping. I marvelled at it for quite some time before I thought about the handbag over my shoulder with the magical camera inside it. I quickly got it out and set it up to take a pocket-size copy of the map on the wall. I had no other thought at this stage other than the map would be really useful to find my way around with, but as I lined up the shot with the tiny, inconvenient viewfinder on the camera I noticed something strange. In one of the sub-sub-basements, there was a large blank space. I peered at it closely – there appeared to be only one way in, and there were two little people-icons on either side of the door, meaning it was guarded.

I looked across the rest of the huge map and couldn’t find any other blank spaces. The map marked out the old torture chambers and the crypts, even a few of the ancient old caverns in the mountain that had nothing to do with the school, all of which immediately intrigued me. But as I glanced back at the blank space, someone entered it, going in past the guards and disappearing. Perhaps it was just a construction zone, or maybe it was a weird glitch in the map. But then why guard it? Bradley would probably warn me against snooping, and I wasn’t sure Daniil would forgive me for copying his magical map, and I hated to accidentally obey the Ministry like this but I didn’t get where I am today by seeing a large, guarded blank spot on a secret map and ignoring it.

I took the photo, and when the tiny piece of paper printed out I inspected it hurriedly. At first glance it was a picture of something far too tiny to understand, but with my wand I could zoom in on any part of the photo. I glanced back at the big mirror on the far wall, silently reminding myself to thank William after I asked about his under-the-door note. 

The next door was the bathroom, but it was beyond a long hallway lined with shelves and a bizarre collection of objects. There were books, and it was worrying how many of the books were locked up and chained down, especially the ones made of ancient, cracked, strange-looking leather. There were swords, and short daggers, some of which glowed with a mysterious magical light, and some antique guns. It was weird to think that I’m not the only one in the wizarding world to realise the value of a length of sharpened metal. The guns seemed out of place, but perhaps he just looked upon them as efficient killing machines. From the way he’d treated William at the dinner table, he was clearly willing to overlook the muggle origins of something, or someone, if he saw value in it.

I walked quickly past all these dangerous looking items then sighed with relief as I used the facilities. I also drank a small bottle of prophylactic potion, just to be safe. Half of the room was dominated by a gigantic walk-in shower. There were several taps, and from the smell of it they were all enchanted to exude various scented waters. There were sponges and a scrubbing brush with a long handle, and the toilet paper was some sort of quilted triple-ply. The towels looked huge and soft, hanging on what my touch confirmed was a heated towel rail. Despite all his talk about discipline, his stern countenance and even his harsh underwear, from the look of is bedroom and his bathroom, apparently Lyev Lvov the Fifth had his soft side too. I wondered if he ever sang in the gigantic shower.

I pulled his robe back on and tip-toed my way back across the large, dark chamber while the candles lit themselves again, trying to keep my feet off the cold floor. Upstairs, I discovered he was asleep, still in that straight soldier-like pose. His gentle snoring covered the rustling of the sheets as I got back into bed and curled up, facing away from him, and slowly drifted off to sleep as well.

He woke me up by shaking my shoulder roughly, and I grunted in irritation, unable to become particularly angry because of the pounding headache. My skin felt cold, my mouth felt cottony and gluey and my eyes were like hot little balls of coal. I felt completely rough. Before I had time to worry about where I was, he was saying something,

“You should get back to your room before everyone gets up.”

I was too hungover to feel dismissed and insulted.

“Water?” I grunted.

“There’ll be water in your room,” he said, in a cold tone that I felt was uncalled for.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up and glancing guiltily at my handbag.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. I sighed, having used this ridiculously contrary tactic myself when I’ve been upset. But that was years ago, when I was still basically a child. I got out of the bed and started picking up my clothes.

“Will you be at the Professor Doctor’s lecture this morning?” he asked.

“Probably,” I said.

“I would like it if we could talk more before you leave. I’ll need your address. My father will want to open negotiations as soon as possible.”

I froze, halfway to picking up my corset with the sliced laces.

“What?”

“Well, we are a good match. We should be married, if my clan-leader, father and grand-father all approve of your family. I wish we didn’t have to go through all these tests of our ancestry.”

“What?” I said again, my hangover mixing with my confusion into a potent brain-cocktail.

“I know they’re required, to determine the right amount of dowry my family will pay yours, but it is not… what is the word? It is not romantic.”

“Married?” I said, my brain slowly catching up with my ears.

“Yes. We should get married, at least before you start to show.”

“Show?” I gulped.

“Is that the right word? Before you start to be fat,” he tried to explain, motioning with his hands in front of him the shape of a pregnant stomach.

“Shit,” I muttered, and stuffed my corset into my handbag. I started to struggle quickly with my clothes, replacing them in order to escape as speedily as possible. I hopped across the floor, pulling on my socks. “If you were trying to have a baby, should you be taking dragon powder and everything?”

“Dragon powder also ensures that the baby will be strong and talented. It’s a lot of fun, but that is just a side-effect,” he said.

“Listen,” I said, pulling on my other sock, “My father is dead,” I lied, “So is my mother. We don’t-”

“Your grand-father then. Or your clan-leader. There must be someone empowered to negotiate on your behalf,” he pondered, getting out of bed and standing at the window, looking out. He breathed in deeply, and stretched his arms.

“This is all moving a bit fast,” I said, putting my hand to my forehead to try and ease the pounding pain and panic.

“Really?”

“Yes! Really!” I said, and he must have finally realised what my emotional state was because he turned from the window to look at me like I was an idiot.

“Well, how is it done in your country then?”

“Slowly,” I said, trying to control my voice as I found my skirt, half-covered by the rug that had been tugged and shuffled into a folded mess.

“What do you mean? We have already slept together. Usually our families would have been in negotiation for a long time already.”

“If everything is so formal here, then what happened to the other women you’ve been with?”

“I married them too,” he said, explaining to me slowly, like I was an idiot. As I pulled my skirt over my hips and started hunting for my shirt, trying to figure out what he was saying.

“So you have lots of wives?”

“Lots? No, only four.”

“Four. Right,” I said, nodding in understanding while it felt like my mind melted out of my ears and nose in a panicky funk. “I suppose that would help with the in-breeding problem,” I heard myself saying.

“What is in-breeding?” he asked.

“It’s when cousins marry cousins,” I said, discovering my shirt in a pile, hidden in a corner between a wall and a shelf. I shoved my arms into the sleeves hurriedly, trying to control the shaking in my hands.

“I have married a cousin,” he said.

“Oh, great,” I said sarcastically.

“Is it not the same in all the great families?” he asked, and the look on his face was very strange.

“Not in my family,” I said, discovering that my shirt was inside-out. I took it off and changed it.

“Your family sounds unusual,” he said, anxiously.

“You’d be surprised,” I said.

“Well, my clan is quite… uh, high? They are very precise. I’m sorry, I’m not getting the right words,” he struggled, apparently confused, while a glimmer of hope appeared.

“I’m sure my family isn’t good enough for yours,” I said, finishing buttoning up my shirt.

“But given the circumstances, surely we have no choice,” he said, sitting on the bed, looking dejected. Now that I was dressed I felt slightly more rational, so I sat on the bed next to him.

“Daniil, you don’t want to marry me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I live in England. If we had kids, you’d never see them,” I said, desperately inventing excuses.

“Well, you’d live in my family home with my wives and children, of course,” he replied, again looking at me like I was an idiot. “How does it work in your country? Surely it can’t be that different.”

“It’s very different,” I said.

“Well, we can discuss this during our negotiations,” he said, still not fully comprehending.

“I’m born of muggles,” I said. I don’t know what I was thinking – I just couldn’t think of anything else to say! My brain felt like jelly, and I was incredibly eager just to get out of this room. I don’t hate kids, I just don’t want to force them out of my own body.

“What?” he said, now looking at me as if I’d imploded.

“My parents aren’t dead, they’re just muggles. I should probably leave,” I said, looking at the growing expression of revulsion on his face. “Oh dear,” I muttered as I picked up my boots, struggling into the tight high-heeled knee-length nonsense as he stared at me. His stern blue eyes had something much different in them now, and it looked bad.

“Your parents are muggles?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes,” I said, one boot complete.

“Get out,” he said, in a dark whisper.

“I’m trying, just let me finish getting-”

“Get out!” he roared suddenly, and picked up the boot I hadn’t put on yet, throwing it out through the doorway and down the stairwell.

“Hey!” I exclaimed angrily. He started speaking angrily in Russian, throwing his arms up and getting uncomfortably close to me. “Listen,” I tried to say, unsure if he was even listening or just wholly tied up in his own rant, “We had a good time, and we enjoyed each other’s company. Thank you very much for your hospitality, and I’m sure I’ll see you at the lecture later on, alright?” I said, trying to ensure that William, Bradley and I were still welcome in the castle. I hadn’t expected him to react quite  _ this  _ badly. He looked at me with apoplectic rage in his eyes, goggling out of his head furiously.

“I bring two gryaznokrovka mudblood shits into my school, with your simpering English ways and your nosey voices and your shit smiles like you’re babies who just shitted, and you slut your way into my bed! You’re not to tell anyone what we did, and you may not ever look at me! Ever!” he ordered, bellowing. 

“You really liked me before you knew what I was,” I said, quietly, “That’s something to think about, isn’t it. You wanted to marry a mudblood.”

I shouldn’t have said it, I know. His face turned red and he leapt over the bed to seize the knife from where he’d abandoned it, having cut my bodice open the night before. I drew my wand on him and we stood across from each other. He was panting with anger, still naked, flushed red with emotion. I was feeling sick, wearing one boot, and a crumpled, dirty shirt. Both of us had that unique post-coital hair. I was pointing my wand straight at his head, crouched in a posture prepared to leap or flee. He was doing the same, shifting from one foot to the other, holding the knife loosely in his hand.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned him, and he appeared to slowly defuse which was lucky since I’m not much of a duelling wizard. “I’m going to leave now, and do as you commanded, your high-masterfulness,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’ll never look at you again.”

With as much dignity as I could, I slowly backed out of his bedroom, keeping my wand pointed at him. As I walked, my stride mismatched from wearing just the one high-heeled boot, he seemed to calm down to a mild simmer. His eyes were practically red, and his clenched teeth seemed so alien to his face, like he was a completely different person. I turned and fled down the stairs, my wand in one hand and my bag in the other, going as fast as I dared with one boot on a spiral staircase with a massive hangover.

Growing up in Slytherin, I learned not to show emotion. I very rarely cry, but I couldn’t hold back the misery and shock. At the bottom of the stairs I picked up my boot, and sat in the giant chair behind the desk as I tied it up. I wondered desperately what time it was, and whether anyone would see me in this state as I wound my way back to my room through the corridors, but my sense of time was now completely destroyed. There was nothing I could do now except try and find my room. I remembered the copy of the map I had made, and by the time I walked out the front door of his office into the deserted, darkened corridors I had half a smirk on my tear-swollen face.

I was staring down at the map, zooming it in and looking for where my room was in relation to Daniil’s room. Or Lvov’s, I corrected myself, refusing to think of him in any intimate terms. Having found my route, I set off into the dark, cold corridors. I was playing over my encounter with Daniil – Lvov, even – so I didn’t notice the sound of footsteps echoing once again through the corridor. These were not the crisp, clicking noises of someone in authority, though. These were the scampering, pitter-pattering footsteps of tiny, naked feet. I paused to look up and down the passageway, but the footsteps stopped and I couldn’t see anyone. I carried on and the footsteps followed me. I hurried, and they kept up. I turned a corner and the echo became more pronounced. It sounded like hundreds of feet were slapping away at the stone floor, pursuing me through the darkness. I paused again, listening, and they stopped instantly too. The echo died away down the corridors, and I tried to walk silently, guessing that they were following me from the sound of my own footsteps. 

I made it to the stairwell without hearing any more of the chillingly creepy noise. But as I put my foot on the first step, it sounded like the echoing footsteps were also coming from the lower floors, so I peered over the cast iron handrail, down into the wide spiralling stone stairwell. It was lit from above by a dim chandelier. The bottom floor of the stairwell was in darkness far below. Suddenly the stairs were full of eyes staring up at me, shining green circles like foxes at night. I gasped and stepped back from the handrail, appalled at how the staring, gaunt faces had appeared so silently. I bumped into someone behind me and spiralled around, pulling my wand out once more and brandishing it wildly.

I saw Pakobna, down on his knees in front of me, his eyes on the floor and his hands together like he was praying. I paused, unsure of what to do. Clearly he thought he’d be punished for allowing himself to get in my way. I helped the elderly, worn elf to his feet slowly. He looked up at me with blankly confused eyes, and beckoned me back to the handrail with a Russian phrase. I looked over, at the unblinking gaze of the house-elf mob below me.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Pakobna said the same ancient house-elf words for servitude, friendship and cooperation that I had used in my room earlier. And he said another word that I didn’t recognise. The other house-elves below appeared to lean towards me even more, straining their ears to listen to my response. I didn’t know what that last word had been, so I had no idea how to respond. I said the elf word for apology, and tried to put an inquisitive inflection on it, but I wasn’t sure they got the point. I remembered the Russian phrase for ‘I don’t understand’, so I said that, but the elves all suddenly cringed away from me, retreating back into the shadows of the stairs, putting up their hands defensively. I quickly rattled out the word for friendship, but didn’t get it right. Pakobna reached out gingerly for my hand, and his skin was cold with a nervous sweat. I noticed that he was missing two fingers from his hand, and amongst the winkles and patches of his skin there was a scar running across his wrist.

We apparated, making my hangover lurch inside me. The world swirled around me then reformed, and I found myself back in my bedroom, with the low ceiling and the rug and the fireplace, and the chipped porcelain sink. I stumbled to the floor, falling to my knees with shock and nausea. A lot of the other house-elves had come with us, crowding the room, all of them still staring at me. Now at least their eyes weren’t shining so strangely. They had wide white eyes, with tiny black pupils dilated with fear and anxiety.

Pakobna had torn off a part of his rags, taken a small stub of charcoal offered to him by one of the other elves, and was trying to draw a symbol on the fabric. I took a sheet of paper out of the handbag on my shoulder and handed it to him wordlessly, and the gratitude in his eyes would have made me laugh at its pathos if it hadn’t been such a strange situation. He was already scribbling a drawing, or a symbol, on the piece of paper. It was a circle with two triangles. Then I realised it was a rounded head with two pointy ears – clearly a quick doodle of a house-elf. Then he drew a smaller circle above the head, with a line across its face. He started to scribble the letters D-O-B-B-Y. It was a drawing of an elf wearing a bobble-hat: Dobby Potter the free-elf who had given his life for the wizards, who had been buried in a hand-dug grave by the hands of Harry himself.

Then Pakobna drew a strange symbol, one made of large blobs and jagged lines. He pointed to it and said the elf word for freedom. He underlined the word Dobby and then pointed again at the symbol and said the word for freedom. I nodded, trying to convey that I understood. He gave me a strange look so I reached out and held his hand once more, shaking it gently, and said the elf word for cooperation again. He nodded, and looked around at the elves surrounding us, all of whom were staring at me in amazement. The closer I looked at them, the more wounded they appeared. One was wearing a filthy rag over a missing eye, another was so old that she had no teeth. One was missing an arm that seemed to have been brutally torn off by something recent. They were whispering to each other now, excitedly. I thought I’d earned enough of their trust to get up and get a drink of water, and the dizziness had faded away at least.

I had to lift one poor, young-looking elf off the sink bodily, placing him gently down on the ground before I could get to the tap. The water was teeth-jarringly cold but I could feel it sluicing down my throat, spreading its watery, healthy goodness. I gulped down as much as I could before the cold became too much, and then stumbled over to sit back down next to Pakobna. The other elves were all closing in around me as he said the unknown word that he’d said before. The reaction from the other elves told me it was a word I should know. One of the elves was smacking herself on the forehead, punishing herself. I reached out and grabbed the arm of the self-harming elf, preventing her from doing any damage.

Pakobna was writing something else. As he scratched out an over-developed, incredibly intricate symbol, it was only until he drew the last line that I recognised it and gasped in surprise.

Every culture has its own powerful words; words that are so important and sacred that they’re rarely used. They’re almost forgotten until they’re taken out, dusted off and used. ‘Treason’, for example, is not lightly invoked. ‘Voldemort’ is similar. Islam has ‘jihad’, Japan has ‘seppuku’, but none of these words compare to the symbol Pakobna had just drawn. He pointed to the symbol and said that word again, the one I didn’t know how to pronounce until just now. English house-elves have forgotten the sound of it, but a few of the ancient elderly ones have shown me how it’s drawn. I once saw it in on an ancient, crumbling scroll, supposedly written by Merlin – the wizards studying the parchment, sealed inside a vacuum and a protective glass cabinet, had no idea what the symbol had meant. I hadn’t told them. Some words, some ideas, are best forgotten.

The symbol, if I’d ever understood it right, meant ‘elf-war’. At least, that is what those few ancient house-elves had thought it meant. After long centuries of subjugation, no wonder the word had been squashed from all memory by the wizards, and passed down amongst the elves by being drawn in the ash of the hearth late at night in the dark. The last elf-war had been before recorded history, from what I’d heard. Thousands of years ago, the elves had been a terrible force – haunting forests, spying from mountains, lurking in caves. They would appear silently in the night with knives made of bone, murder shining in their wide eyes, silently cutting the throats of men, women, children, even whole cities. I was probably only one of the only wizards in the world who knew elf-war was even possible. Those long, bloody years had been erased, and the whole species had been enslaved by powerful, ancient magic. Pakobna repeated the word again with more force, and I wondered what sort of treatment from the Durmstrang wizards could possibly inspire this kind of feeling amongst the elves. From my reaction, Pakobna could tell I understood what he was getting at now. 

I drew passable pictures of William, Bradley and I with another generic house-elf sketch, and drew a circle around us, repeating the words for friend and cooperation. I had to let go of the house-elf’s arm I had been holding, so she immediately starting hitting herself in the head again. Pakobna ignored her and pointed again at the symbol, saying the word that made the other elves shudder and lean in closer, until our piece of paper covered with forbidden sketches was surrounded by an ocean of wide white eyes.

Pakobna said something and one of the other elves from far back in the crowd handed him an object. It looked like a piece of old leather rolled up, roughly the size of my fore-arm. That elf started hitting his head against the corner of the fireplace, but Pakobna gave me the roll of leather blank-faced. I unrolled it, seeing inky scribbles and notes in the alphabet I couldn’t understand. It was another map of the castle, but much more detailed. Even at a quick glance I could see that there were things on here that hadn’t been included on the map in Lvov’s study. There were other narrow passages, and some rooms had detailed notes that I couldn’t understand, presumably describing how to open secret doors.

I was about to draw a question mark and start some sort of dialogue about why they were telling me all of this, and giving me this map. But at that moment there was a knock on my door. Each of the house-elves flinched, vanishing quicker than soap bubbles. Before he vanished, Pakobna pointed down at the map, his long weathered finger tapping against the leather. I looked down and he was pointing at a blank spot on it. It was the same blank spot on the map I’d taken from Lvov. And then Pakobna himself vanished, leaving me completely alone in the room. The strange, secretive, silent meeting was finished, and I was left puzzled and afraid. I figured the elves wanted me to go to this blank spot, but due to their magical bindings and the language barrier they couldn’t tell me exactly. Their motivation was clear, at least. They wanted freedom with a violent desperation.

There was a knock on the door again. I rolled the leathery map back up and gently placed it inside the enchanted space of my handbag. I struggled to my feet and opened it, and discovered Bradley outside. He wanted to make sure William and I were up in time. I was glad of this sudden return to relative normalcy. It felt like Bradley had blown away all the cobwebs of confusion and conspiracy just by mentioning the word breakfast. I yawned, suddenly enveloped by weariness.

“Can’t I get some more sleep?” I asked him. “I’ll gladly trade breakfast for an extra couple of hours in bed.” I’m more of a night-person at the best of times, and with the jet-lag and the night’s adventures, I was completely exhausted.

“We need to discuss the agenda for the day,” he told me. I sighed heavily.

“Long night?” he asked with a grin, but I could detect no sign in his face that he knew about me and Daniil.

“I’ll be there shortly, I just need to freshen up,” I told him, shutting the door before he could say anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I tried to wash myself as thoroughly as possible, heating the water from the sink with my wand and using it like a magical shower. I changed into a long black skirt with a silver hem, a long tight-fitting black shirt and a long grey waistcoat with tails.

In the dining hall, breakfast turned out to be the last thing I wanted. The staff table was sparsely populated – Lvov was absent, along with several others. There were platters of runny fried eggs and big greasy black sausages that smelt like blood, pyramids made of boiled eggs, a small plate of cardboard-stiff plain omelettes and several big bowls of chicken soup. There were also dozens of teapots being passed around by the still-groggy staff members, and from the smell they were all different. Most of them were strange, exotic herbal teas, but I found one that at least smelt vaguely familiar and filled a big mug full of it. Then I munched on some dry toast while Bradley dragged William into the room, down the length of the long hall and into the seat next to me. He looked about as rough as I felt, and was running his fingers through his long damp hair. He glanced at me with his deep blue eye and grunted a greeting.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked him.

“I don’t think I slept, I think I just passed out,” he told me.

“Anything interesting happen?” I said, and he looked at me again with a suspicious glance.

“I’ll tell you about it when we get a chance to talk alone. What are you doing after breakfast?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Well, we’re going to a meeting,” he said.

“What meeting?” asked Bradley before I could ask anything else.

“It’s nothing, just me and her,” he said, in a brusque tone.

“Well, make sure it doesn’t take too long,” Bradley replied completely unabashed, “In an hour you’re giving your lecture.”

At the end of the table the vampire sat down, and asked Bradley something in Russian. He translated it for me,

“He would like the, uh, blood sausage.”

“Blood sausage?!” said William.

“It’s just a name,” Bradley reassured us, “It’s not human blood. Pass him his breakfast, come on, you’re starting to look rude.”

“I’d hate to look rude,” I muttered sarcastically, and passed him the platter of thick black meat. I couldn’t help but smell it, and it was revolting. Bradley was helping himself to several before passing them down the table to the vampire at the end, with his pale waxy skin.

We ate in silence, each of us dedicated to rebuilding our poor poisoned consciousnesses. I was mulling over the events of the night miserably, and that strange session with all the house elves.

“What do you think of the high-master? Wotsisname?”

“It’s Lvov, I think,” I said.

“Lvov the Fifth,” clarified Bradley, and I snorted a laugh.

“What did you think, anyway?” William pressed me.

“He’s probably just another racist bigot.”

“He also seemed to like you quite a lot,” William observed.

“He did seem to, yes,” I said, in a tone of voice that silenced him.

I watched with disgust as William mopped up some soupy egg yolk with a piece of soggy toast, and we both departed the breakfast table, leaving Bradley to try and ask a house-elf if there was any bacon. I noticed the quick glance the elf gave me, as if appraising me, but it was gone in an instant. William and I walked out of the hall into the main entry chamber. There was a large glass window letting in light above the door we’d arrived through last night, and it was a welcome change to this claustrophobic lamp light.

I grabbed William by the arm and stopped him,

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve been told the trophy room,” he said, unconsciously stroking the pocket of his black trousers.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“I got a note last night,” he said, and I nodded. It was good for him to know that I knew what he knew, but not that I’d already known how he knew it. Obviously.

I tried to resist checking the maps in my bag as William led us on a faltering route, checking the little note in his pocket regularly. We asked directions from a pale-faced child with short black hair plastered to his head, wearing what looked like a long brown monkish robe, clutching a stack of scrolls and a heavy bag. It took us several minutes to translate his directions with the phrase books, but eventually we found the trophy room.

The entrance was an archway of black marble columns with long dark recesses on either side. On these walls there were a few shelves of sporting trophies in various sizes, but mainly it seemed to be hunting trophies. There was the ancient head of a basilisk suspended in the middle of the ceiling, preserved with the best-quality taxidermy of several centuries ago. The rest of the walls were covered with wooden shields and discreet silver plaques beneath them. On these wooden shields there were all manner of body parts mounted, mainly heads. There were the heads of giants, werewolves, of dragons and the heads of old merpeople. I could see a few stuffed goblins in glass cases, in less noticeable corners of the room. There were dozens of creatures I couldn’t recognise. There were humans in some cabinets, dressed in period costume with glass eyes in their faces. A huge fishy head on a reinforced wooden board had tentacles dangling from it that were still twitching horribly, and a primeval instinct told me not to go near them.

Interestingly I observed there were some creatures completely absent from this gallery of horrors. There were no elves, centaurs or unicorns.

“What now?” William asked me.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who got the note.”

“Well, yeah. But this is your area of expertise. You know about secret meetings and stuff, right?”

“That’s the impression I’m getting, yes,” I said, wearily.

“Well, the note was sent to me, and it said to come alone. So I suppose you had best hide?” he pondered, but I was already moving to hide behind a pillar and the glass cabinet of a goblin-corpse before he finished the first sentence. Despite the horror of this macabre room, it felt quite nice hiding in the shadows like this, spying out on everyone else – well, just William. For the first time since entering the castle I felt safe, but then I started to worry that I might fall asleep in this little nook and miss something important.

“Professor Doctor?” said a voice from the archway. It echoed noisily around the room, and I wondered why anyone had chosen to have a discreet conversation in this highly suspect chamber. It was a feminine voice, with a thick Russian accent. She had stern glasses and pale blonde hair in a high, tight bun, with plain black-brown robes. Her hands were clasped behind her back. She strode forwards from the archway and she was suddenly a lot shorter, younger-looking and skinny. Half-starved even. She had deep bags beneath her icy blue eyes. “It’s good to see you again,” she said as she looked him up and down.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I’m not sure I remember you,” said William.

“We met at the honour banquet for the launch of your project. A few months ago. I was a research assistant for the man who worked on the prism-lens focal equations,” she said, curtly.

“You did? I’m sorry, that was a very blurry night,” he said, recalling the joyous celebration.

“I introduced myself. We talked about alloys made of light.”

“Oh yes! I remember now. You had that interesting idea about weaving frequencies. It’s… Emma?”

“My name is Yana,” she said, her face flushing red, “Did you really find it interesting?”

“Sorry, yes, Yana. Of course. Well, it’s been nice chatting, but my breakfast is going down badly I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” said William. I groaned inwardly and resisted the urge to leap out and slap him on the back of the head.

“Yes, I know. I sent you the note,” she said. “I am required to review the material for your lecture, to make sure it’s appropriate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone should have explained at your Ministry,” she said, “One of the conditions of the Department allowing the high-master to invite you here is that you obey our guidelines about appropriate subject matter for underage wizards,” she said, rattling off the words professionally. “Have you not been told?” she asked.

“Uh, what?”

“I need to make sure you don’t say anything inappropriate to the students during your speech,” said Yana, simplifying sarcastically, her accent growing more pronounced.

“Students? I thought I was just going to be talking in front of other researchers.”

“Your presence here is of great interest to many people,” said Yana, “Many of the parents of the children have petitioned to come today, to hear you speak.”

“Parents?”

“A few of the more prestigious families have secured invitations, yes,” she said.

“Oh dear,” said William, fiddling with his hair anxiously.

“You understand the importance of conveying the appropriate message, then,” Yana said, and held out one open hand, “So, if you do not mind letting me see the lecture you plan to give, I will quickly review it.”

“If this is official business, why did you have to put a note under my door?” asked William. Yana frowned, and tried to dismiss the question,

“It was too important a message to trust to anyone else.”

“This doesn’t seem that important,” William pressed.

“It is not easy for an unmarried woman to do  _ anything  _ in this castle without causing scandal. And here I am, meeting with a foreign man! And, no offence, but a foreign man of low birth, no less!” she said. Peering underneath the arm of the stuffed goblin I was hiding behind, I noticed a flicker of something strange in her face.

“Low birth, is it?” said William, raising an eyebrow, suddenly less nervous.

“Please, I’m sorry, sir, but we do not have much time,” insisted Yana.

“Okay, but I haven’t written very much. I was just going to say something about international cooperation, something about the interests of developing our magical knowledge, and the importance of balancing this with wisdom – blah, blah, blah. Then I was going to talk about hyper-cubes for the next couple of hours. I didn’t want to make it too difficult for the translators.”

“They have an enchanted banner suspended over the stage, it should-”

“Stage?” interrupted William, but Yana continued.

“The banner will translate everything perfectly, they tell me.”

“Like subtitles?”

“Subtitles?” asked Yana, as William dug a slim scroll out of pocket and offered it to Yana. She plucked a quill from inside the inner pocket of her jacket and muttered something to make it write in bright scarlet ink. She started reading, then immediately crossing out words.

“It’s a muggle thing, I suppose,” William muttered, “What are you writing?”

“The Department would rather you emphasise the progress in magical research and how we will benefit from all the work on your project. If you could mention how it wouldn’t have been possible without the assistance of both Durmstrang and the Department, they’d like that a lot.”

“Can I keep the joke about the mermaid and the sea-monster?” he asked.

“What?” said Yana, looking back over the scroll. She spotted it and smiled self-consciously. “Definitely not,” she said with some humour creeping into her accent, and crossed it out vigorously with her quill.

“This is very short notice,” William complained.

“I’m sorry, I was only given this task last night. The hyper-cubes: do you think you could focus more on their practical application? Could you talk more about the super-spaces and parallel double-vertices you describe in the book?”

“Well, I’ll try. Your English is very good,” William said. Yana glanced up, startled,

“Thank you. I had a lot of time to perfect it while living in your country.”

“Is that why you’ve been selected to do this?”

“As well as my familiarity with the subject matter,” she said, finding a lot less to correct in his notes about theoretical geometry. 

“Actually, why are you even here? Does Durmstrang have a research department?”

“I am not permitted to tell you anything about it, sorry,” said Yana, glancing up guiltily.

“Well, that’s a bit silly.”

“It’s an unbreakable promise. I’m really sorry, Professor Doctor.”

“No, I mean, if you wanted to keep it secret, why wouldn’t you just lie?”

“Professor Doctor, forgive me for saying so, but I would never lie to you. I have a great love for your country and its ways. The days I spent working there were some of the best in my life. It was the happiest I have ever been. You made that possible. It was an honour to work on your project in even a small role, and a privilege to have met you even once, even if you didn’t remember my name. I never dreamed I’d meet you again. But then, I never dreamed of freedom like I found in your country. I have heard you have a saying: we make the impossible happen all the time, or something to that effect? I’m considering getting a tattoo of that phrase.”

“Well, thank you,” said William, flattered, “But you should probably get the wording right before you get the tattoo.” She looked down at the scroll again, blushing bright red. I rolled my eyes.

“Myself I think your speech could have been… inspirational. Certainly not something the students are used to hearing. It is a shame the Department has such strict rules about this. So, yes, I would very much like to tell you on what I am currently working. It would be of great interest to you, and indeed everyone in your country.”

“Well, not  _ everyone _ in my country. I’m sure the muggles wouldn’t care,” William joked, but Yana looked up at him very seriously, then continued her reading. “I’m sure we’ll find out about it eventually,” William continued, trying to diffuse her sudden tension.

“That is what I am afraid of,” she said darkly, and handed him back the scroll with her red notes covering it. “Good luck with your lecture, Professor Doctor Grey.”

“Listen, stop that. You can just call me William,” he said quickly.

“Uh… okay…” she said, blushing again, “Good luck, William.”

“Thank you. Will you be in the audience?”

“Near the back, yes.”

“I’ll look for you,” William said as Yana turned to leave, patting her hair bun delicately and blushing the same colour as the ink she’d used.

“Um…” she said, hesitating. From a pocket she brought out a book – the silver script on the blue fabric hardcover was in Russian. “This is my copy of the translation of your book. Would you… mind signing it?” she said in a timorous voice, so far from the confidence she’d had when she had walked in. William obliged, borrowing her quill. She took the book back wordlessly and scurried out of the archway. William was left holding her quill, gazing after her. I waited a few moments then emerged from my hiding place. I walked up behind him silently and coughed quietly, making him jump.

“What did you write in her book?” I asked him, one eyebrow raised sardonically. He sighed and told me,

“Dear Yana, Thank you for the advice, and your assistance on the project. To paraphrase a muggle named Stanislavski, ‘there are no small roles, only small minds’. Good luck with the secrecy, Professor Doctor William M Grey.”

“Wow, why don’t you just write her a love letter,” I said sarcastically.

“You don’t like her, I suppose?” William said as we started to walk through the archway.

“I did at first, but I can’t stand all that simpering. She’s just a fangirl,” I said.

“Maybe she’d be a groupie,” William joked, and I had to hide the sudden, unexpected flash of jealousy I felt.

“You’re a boring lecturer, not a rock star,” I said. “Did she change your speech much?”

“Bloody loads,” William muttered, looking at the scroll in his hands and shaking his head in dismay.

“It sounds like you’ll be in front of quite a crowd,” I said, glancing sideways at him. I was rewarded with his expression of anxiety as he forgot about the blonde. He frowned down at it, and I tried to force more conversation, “I didn’t know that the book you didn’t work on, didn’t write and had no intention of publishing was so popular.”

“It’s ridiculous,” William agreed, not hearing my light-hearted tone. “Look at this,” he said, showing me one of the red notes.

“What is it, her room number?” I said. I looked down at where he was pointing. In blocky, clumsy English letters and red ink, Yana had written ‘You are in great danger’. I sighed, wondering if anything in this place was ever going to be simple.

“What do you think it means?” said William.

“There’s definitely something strange going on in this school,” I said. I hesitated for a moment, and then told him a few brief details of my strange encounter with the house-elves.

“I don’t see how it’s connected. And what were you doing, wandering around the corridors so early?” William said. I glanced around us – we were in a large, mostly empty corridor, with a few monkish students talking quietly some distance away.

“It might not be connected at all,” I said, shrugging, “But they gave me a map,” I muttered. “And there’s a blank space on it. They want me to go there. Whatever your number one fan is doing here, whatever it is she can’t talk about? I’d bet money that she’s got something to do with it. I’m going to investigate.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ve got experience sneaking around these types of places,” I said, slightly touched by his concern even though he’d been quite blunt.

“No, I mean, if you were going to hide something, why leave a blank space where it used to be? Why not just write down that it’s something mundane like a sewage chamber or something. A blank space is the first place anyone would want to explore. It might be a trap,” William mused, stroking his short chin-beard.

“You’re still giving the lecture, I suppose? Even though you’re apparently in some sort of danger?”

“You reckon she’s lying about it?” he asked. 

“I reckon she’s a creepy stalker fangirl. She probably didn’t even need to change your speech, she just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Well, regardless, I’m still giving the lecture. I have you and Bradley to protect me.”

“I was hoping to try and explore that blank space while everyone was listening to you,” I said, reluctant to sit through hours of discussion about arithmancy in a crowd of racist Russian wizards. “You’re a good distraction,” I said with a discreet smirk.

“You’re not going to be in the audience?” he said, and he sounded so disappointed that I felt bad briefly.

“I suppose I’d better show my face, just to prevent suspicion,” I said, sighing.

“Good,” said William, pleased. He looked up from the scroll and stared at something in the air only he could see.

“What is it?” I asked him, impatiently.

“We should take a photo of ourselves.”

“What?”

“Just give me your camera,” he said. We walked around the corner of the corridor to avoid the students, and I dug the camera out of my bag. We stood closely together, and it felt a bit weird – like he’d smell Lvov on me. I still felt horribly shaken by the experience. He held the camera at arm’s length and pointed the lens at us, clicking the button. As the photo printed, I grabbed it and looked at myself. The colour was bleached by the bright flash, and my eyes were half-closed. William had a glowing red dot in his single iris. It was awful.

“Can’t we try again?” I asked, but William ignored me and took out his wand, waving it at the photo and muttering. The images of us both came alive, and started moving very strangely – swirling colours and out-of-focus faces swirling around. It made me feel quite strange to look at this distorted, alien version of myself. Then he muttered again, touching his wand to the photo. As he took it away there was a ghostly, transparent copy of the photograph, which slowly solidified and fell to the floor. I knelt down and picked up both – the image was empty, but the two near-figures of the first picture moved quickly between the two images, vanishing from the frame of one photo and walking into the other from the side like windows onto another world.

“Now, we take a photo, with one of us in each. If we need to get in touch with each other in a hurry, we can send out the little image to the other photo.”

“How will it get our attention?” I asked. He thought for a second and pointed his wand at both of the photos in my hand. They both squeaked noisily, then kept squawking and whistling at me.

“Shake them to shut them up,” William said over the noise. I did so, and was surprised how violent I had to be. “Good, we’ll always be in touch. If you get in trouble when you’re investigating that place, now you’ll know what to do, right?”

“Thank you,” I said, more touched than I was about his previous, misunderstood concern.

Suddenly there was the reverberating noise of a bell tolling throughout the corridor, echoing up and down throughout the school.

“We should get to… wherever we’re going,” he said, suddenly alarmed. “I think that’s the morning bell.”

“What time is your lecture supposed to start?” I asked, as we turned to walk towards the central hall.

“Uh, at the morning bell, I think. But it’ll probably take everyone a while to get settled,” William said, as we started to hurry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

We got lost for five minutes, but I didn’t want to take out my map. In the end we found a crowd and followed it. As we hurried after them, we saw a big set of doors ahead of us. They had circular glass windows, and ornate wooden carvings. We followed the crowd through, some of them looking curiously at William, and found ourselves in a massive space. In front of us there was a stage, lit with a bright white spotlight, with a huge chalk-board and a speaker’s podium, and a magical white banner floating high above it. Above and below us there were tall tiers of seats, with balconies on either side of the stage. The students were sitting in the lowest, rearmost tiers. The rest of the seats were full of black-cloaked, stern-looking people wearing tall hats. They all had fairly grizzled faces and gnarled hands, from the look of it. The people sitting in the balconies either side of the stage were much more attractive – a few were even dressed in opera gear, with refined tuxedos for the men and large, overly elaborate, gem-encrusted headdresses for the women, spreading out of the back of their heads like fountains. I took in the high chandelier and the oil lamps around the seating areas, the grandiose wooden panelling, and the heavy red velvet curtains to either side of the stage. There must have been more than several hundred people here. Under the noise of the babble of the crowd, I could hear William let out a quiet whimper.

“Just speak clearly and you’ll be fine,” I told him, now sharing some of the anxiety.

“Oh dear,” he said weakly.

“The banner will do all the work for you, I guess,” I told him again.

“Mr Grey! Miss Baker!” someone was shouting, and I saw Bradley waving us over to the seats in the very front row. We slunk down the long stairs, past the people turning to look at us. William didn’t see the students nudging each other with hilarity, holding one hand over their eye – the wrong eye, I might add – and adopting mocking tones. I wasn’t sure what they were saying, but I certainly heard ‘gryaznokrovka’ several times. We sat down at the edge of the front row in two seats presumably marked as reserved in Russian.

“There’ll be a short introduction from the high-master and then he’ll invite you up onstage, okay?” Bradley told him.

“Holy crap,” William muttered, looking behind him at the rows of people now falling silent.

“Don’t worry about the audience,” Bradley told him, “They’ll be in pitch black when you’re up there. You won’t be able to see them, and try to ignore the noise of them. It’ll just be you in the spotlight.”

“Oh great,” said William, heavily sarcastic.

The lights suddenly dimmed and the murmuring behind us increased. The spotlight on the stage swung to the moving figure of Lvov walking out from behind one of the curtains. Part of me wanted to grin and wave at him mischievously, but the rest of me remembered that look in his eyes when he came at me with that knife. I shuddered to look at him. His calm, stoic, stern expression was back on his face. His eyes were still just as intense and blue, though. He was saying something in Russian and Bradley was whispering the translation into William’s ear but not mine. I sighed, listening to the deep, growling tones of Lvov’s accented voice being magically resounded throughout the theatre. It was soothing again, and I had to force myself not to fall asleep. And then suddenly I found myself staring up into a bright light, and William was getting up from the seat next to me. Onstage, Lvov was staring down at him, but with the dark shadows on his face he could have been looking at me. William climbed the stairs at the side of the platform and I was once again plunged into darkness.

“Uh, good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” William was stammering onstage, blinking in the bright. “Thank you very much, high-master Lvov,” he said. “I’d like to start by thanking everyone I’ve met for their generous hospitality and warmth of spirit,” William said, and I smirked in the shadow. I looked up at the banner high above me, and though it was an awkward angle I could see the words springing into shape magically, forming sentence by sentence. Almost everyone else was reading it too, rather than looking at William, but a few were certainly glancing at him, and everyone was listening to the tone of his voice, the volume magically increased.

Next to me, someone sat in William’s vacant seat. I glanced to my side and was startled to discover it was Lvov. I looked back at William right away, and Lvov did nothing but stare up at the stage.

“I’d also like to, uh, thank everyone from Durmstrang and indeed your own… Departament Mastera?” he said uncertainly, and I guessed he was naming the Russian ‘Department of Wizards’. I glanced up at the banner, wondering how it would handle translating Russian into Russian, but everything appeared to be going smoothly. He was continuing, “I’d like to thank them for their kind invitation to speak to you all today, and for their assistance in the mission to put wizards on the moon. Certainly, without… uh, their help, we would never have succeeded,” he said, reading from the scroll in front of him. Someone in the back of the crowd muttered something, and the few people who had heard him tittered quietly. William frowned, peering out into the darkness, but carried on speaking, pouring forth compliments about the people he was speaking to. I leaned across Lvov to whisper at Bradley,

“What was that comment?”

He hesitated for a long while before telling me.

“They said that the mission would have failed in a blazing fireball of a barbeque of mongrels,” he said, apologising to Lvov for leaning across him. And then Bradley gulped nervously, looking back at William onstage. I shared his concern, looking up at his lonely, far-away figure bathed in light. I could see the first suggestion of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Next to me, Lvov shifted uncomfortably and crossed his legs.

“Of course, the benefits of this project have been many. We have gained a new understanding of many elements of magic – our anti-corrosion enchantments, for example, have been refined to a science, and we have a better understanding of the cosmos surrounding us. I believe the centaurs in particular have been in long discussion over the images of the stars returned from the lunar expedition,” he was saying, and I thought he was doing quite well. But there was a growing murmur amongst the crowd, and I wondered if he should have mentioned ‘science’, let alone ‘centaurs’.

“More than that, we can as a generation now proudly proclaim that we have achieved something momentous, that historian mages will remember for aeons to come. Long-range travel has been revolutionised, and in a very few short years it will be possible to ride a rainbow across the Earth, making international travel easy and quick,” he explained. There was more angry murmuring, and I wondered how different their values could be to mine that they’d see this as a bad thing. Someone muttered something in the crowd and there was more laughter, louder this time. I learned over to Bradley again but he was ahead of me, shaking his head.

Lvov said something to Bradley, who learned across to talk to me again.

“The high-master says that you look lovely this morning. And he apologises for these unfair hecklers,” he whispered.

“What are they shouting?” I asked, ignoring Lvov’s strange little game.

“I didn’t hear what he said,” he whispered.

“But the tone wasn’t friendly, right?” I said. Bradley shook his head again.

Onstage William was stumbling over his words again, and it sounded like his mouth was dry. My own hangover was coming along nicely, so I had no idea how rough William must have been feeling. I wondered how long I’d have to sit here watching this torturous scene before I could politely get up to go to the toilet and thus make my escape – it did cross my mind to stay in my seat and silently support him from the audience, but that would have been a pointless gesture.

“I’ve been asked to speak here today because of all the kind interest in the book with my name on it,” William said, awkward and diplomatic. There was some sympathetic, tittering laughter amongst the crowd. “Just in case you’re not familiar with the basic theory, I’ll sketch it out briefly now.” He strode over to the chalkboard and seized the chalk, even more uncomfortable without the podium as a shield. “This is a line,” he said, drawing the chalk diagonally, “And it is one dimensional. There are a single set of coordinates on this line. We can describe the, uh, dimension as a symbol, why not Y,” he said, smiling nervously. Apparently the light-heartedness didn’t translate, because there was silence in William’s pause. “If we square Y and draw a parallel line,” he drew another line that wasn’t quite a line, “We suddenly have a second set of coordinates,” he joined up the lines, forming a diamond, “Which we can label Z. Or X. No, Z. It is a two-dimensional space. Every location in this dimension can be mapped by comparing Y to X. I mean Z. And if we square this space again, drawing out a parallel, we get a cube.”

He took out his wand and enchanted the chalk, then drew a second diamond in the air, several feet away from the front of the board. He connected the squares up, from the surface of the chalkboard to the hovering chalk shape, finishing with a flourish. A three dimensional cube defined by chalk lines hung in the air, hovering over the stage.

“There are now three coordinates. Z, X and Z. No, Y. Sorry. And, uh, this is where it gets complicated. If we extend it out parallel _again_ , we form a hypercube. Which is weird, because as humans we only experience these first three dimensions. A hypercube is difficult to render in three dimensions, obviously. But it can be expressed a little like this,” he said, and muttered at the chalk again. He flourished it through the air, getting chalk dust on his sleeve as he passed through the lines he’d already drawn. His arm did something very complicated, appearing to warp and fold in on itself somehow. The shape he’d drawn was massively confusing. It hurt my head to look at it, let alone think about it. It seemed to be moving like it was perpetually swallowing itself and also expanding without actually shifting at all.

“We have four dimensions now, so we have four coordinates. We can call this fourth dimension W. Z, X and Y can be treated as a single quantity that changes over W, so Y, X and Z might as well be a single symbol like T. Also, we’ve squared T to get W. Now, if we build a hypercube like this, you can clearly see our relationship to W is different to the three T dimensions. With magic we can define how much W is in a space, or T, which means we can cheat, and overlap as much T-volume as we want into a T-volume. We can disguise what appears to be a simple box as a hypercube, layering more of T on this W axis.”

I thought William should have gotten a round of applause for stumbling his way through that, but there was only silence and the sound of an old man’s dry, dainty coughing. I thought it was about time I left, but someone muttered something in the audience. It echoed out through the theatre and the stifled laughter was audible from almost everyone. William was squinting out into the audience again, and I could see the distress in his face. I glanced at Bradley, who only shook his head again. Then something came flying out of the darkness towards the stage. William darted away from it, and Bradley was on his feet instantly. He was too late to cast a spell before the harmless, bouncy sports ball flew through the shape of the hypercube, shattering it in a cloud of chalk dust and bouncing from the slate board. I could hear Lvov’s sudden intake of breath in the darkness next to me.

William watched the cloud drift to the floor as the ball bounced off the stage and rolled to his foot. He picked it up. Bradley sat down, almost looking embarrassed. Then the laughter started again, more freely, and it echoed around the darkness joyfully.

I was gripping the arm rests of my chair angrily, but suddenly I felt Lvov’s hand on mine. I looked down at it, then up at him – he was still staring up at the stage with those intense blue eyes of his. I felt the warmth in his hand, and it flexed subtly, comfortable resting atop mine. I was certain he was doing it on purpose. I pulled my hand out from under his quickly with disgust, but he refused to react.

“Uh, this basic equation,” he said, speaking loudly over the laughter as he drew on the board again with the chalk, “Has basically been understood for thousands of years. It’s at the heart of all space-folding magic, like trunks that open into a different space with each different key, or a door that opens onto more than one place. But once we fundamentally understand this principle,” he said, finishing his drawing, “We can develop much more appropriate enchantments to manipulate it.”

He had drawn ‘WN = T2’ on the board. Now he strode back to the podium, his hand still clutching the ball. I saw that thing in his face again that had made the Durmstrang faculty drink blood, and it made me forget about leaving my chair. I recognised it now: it was the same thing I’d seen after he’d left Azkaban.

Years ago, he’d lost his eye only hours before being sent to wizard prison as the result of his suddenly unfriendly black-market contacts. Due to an unfortunate case of debateable manslaughter being exaggerated into the worst kind of first-degree murder, William had been sent to live in a cage with the Dementors. Azkaban does strange things to a man, they say. He’d been there far too long, but when he’d got out he had slowly changed back into the man I’d known before. More than that: the esteemed genius behind the wizard’s international space programme. But now there was that old look in his eye and that twitch to his head, like he was being hunted. Unfocused, he was drinking in his peripheral vision. He was scanning everything, like he was trying to see four dimensions with only one eye. Needless to say I was worried.

“Interestingly, this can be likened to the simple scientific allegory of Schrödinger’s Cat. Everyone’s heard of that, right?” he said, and there was silence. “Oh come on,” he insisted, his tone now belligerent. “It was in 1935 in Austria. Erwin Schrödinger. Several other now-famous men postulated on the variant qualities of W-space, but obviously they had no way of imagining how right they could be, because they had no concept of magic and were muggles,” he said, with an aggressive edge to his voice. There were several angry exclamations from the audience, but they didn’t have time to think of a heckle before he ploughed on.

“They understood the principle, sort of. We know that W-space can be defined by events in T-space thanks to magic. There can even be ‘holes’ in T-space, but collapsing W to T without making it explode horribly used to be difficult. I had the good fortune to meet one Mister Gorkon, who can explain better than me about wormholes. He’s a goblin,” William added suddenly, with a bitter smile. There were more shocked noises. William gazed out at the audience, looking in my direction,

“But this is all just a distraction. The main breakthrough of discovering this,” he said, lowering his hand, “Is the invention of the infinite spring principle. Simple mechanics can be powered indefinitely without using electricity. Muggles can use electricity, and they’ve done very well with it, but using magic interferes with the electrons. Our very nature prohibits machinery too advanced without the correct enchantments. Instead we rely on cogs, or magic that’s much more powerful than it needs to be.”

I gathered from the angry mutterings in the crowd that William was now determined to piss off every wizard in Russia. I figured if he was fighting back, and he had Bradley to act quickly – quicker than I had about that sudden ball, certainly – then I could certainly pay attention to his unsubtle use of the word ‘distraction’. I muttered something to Bradley, leaning across Lvov, and got up. I was suddenly uncomfortable about standing in the front row. I hurried away, and heard several more nasty comments being muttered that I hadn’t been able to hear from the front row, thankfully. I couldn’t understand them but I didn’t like the tone. I tried to open the huge theatre doors as quietly as possible, but for a second the light from the corridor spilled out and shone a bar of illumination across the theatre. William was standing next to it, and as I left and looked back, my shadow darted through the light, away from him. He was looking up at me as the door closed. And then I was out of the theatre, and taking a deep breath.

I really wanted a drink of water, or a long lie down, or even just a hug. But from outside I heard another bout of laughter in the theatre, and it made me shiver. I started to stride off through the corridors, but someone shouted my name.

“Lucinda!”

I span, and saw Lvov striding after me. I paused, wondering what I should do. Part of me wanted to run away, but there was still that stern, fierce self-control that I found so alluring.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to apologise for my reaction,” he said quietly, walking slower. I remained silent and crossed my arms, watching him expectantly. He’d have to do better than that! “I am sorry I became so angry so quickly. You… you surprised me.”

“Remind me never to organise a party for your birthday,” I told him as he stood in front of me.

“I have tried to forget about you, but I cannot. You are the only woman I have ever been with that it has been fun like that.”

“You need to get out more,” I told him icily. He looked hurt.

“Please, may we speak more before you leave? I would like to see you again.”

“I’m sure you can just contact my _muggle_ parents and negotiate a dowry,” I said sarcastically, and he visibly winced at the word. “Maybe you could sit down and eat dinner with them, and tell them all about how they’re an inferior race of sub-human animals. Would you like that?” I continued. I was prepared to laugh cruelly, or show him my middle finger and storm off, or continue with my bitter rant. But he just turned and walked away before I could say anything, going back into the theatre. The door thudded softly behind him, and I was left alone in the corridor. I huffed angrily and stormed off down the corridor, determined to cause some mischief. I would have carved my name in a school desk if I had been able to find one.

Eventually I found a toilet with the universal symbol of the woman on it. It was perfect. I ducked inside and took the far cubicle, then pulled both the maps out of my bag. After a long time I had figured out the way to the guarded entrance of the blank space. And after a longer time of puzzling over the house-elf map, I also discovered a secret way into a place that looked like an old cave. It contained an air vent that fed into the blank space. It certainly looked like an option, if I could work out how to open the various secret entrances. I stuffed the maps back into my bag and left the toilet, striding confidently through the passages now, eager to do something rebellious.

I wound my way through the castle past suits of armour covered in cobwebs and dust, wondering if I was being watched. I made my way to the extravagant doorway to the crypt – it was a black door carved with a grim decoration. The carving, twice as tall as me, was of a mob of caricatured men fleeing in terror from a tall, cloaked figure. From beneath his hood poked the jaw of a skeleton, and the hands gripping his scythe mid-swing were skeletal too. The distorted, fearful faces of the humans fleeing before him, hiding in bushes and up trees, were terrifying. Along the top of the doors there were more figures. One wore a cloak, one held aloft a stone, and one wielded what looked like a gigantic wand. Above them was carved a strange symbol, half of it on either door. A triangle containing a circle, divided by a line. I knew enough about arcane conspiracy theories to recognise the Deathly Hallows symbol.

The door of the crypt was locked, but I’ve never let a locked door stop me before. I usually prefer to let other people do the work for me, but sometimes you’ve just got to get your own hands dirty, you know? I know a half-dozen spells to unlock quite strong magical locks, and this door opened after I tried the first one. It creaked ominously inwards, and I slunk through, leaving the door ajar behind me. I silently moved down the long stone staircase, lit with torches that burst into flame ahead of me, showing me how far the stairs descended and ruining my stealth.

I had my wand in my hand and emerged from the low doorway at the bottom of the staircase into a large chamber filled with large stone tombs. The chamber was long, and the torches were lit only several yards around me. Each tome was carved with similar death-related motifs, the mortals fleeing from the spectre of death. There were several tall stone statues of various wizards, each more grizzled and bearded than the last. The plaques, names and dates were all in various languages that I didn’t understand. As I walked towards the first cross-roads in the city of the dead, I pulled my elf-made map out and consulted it. It was left turn, then the second right, then straight on until what looked like a five-pointed chamber with some sort of landmark in the middle. As I walked onwards I noticed the torches had stopped lighting up around me, so I pulled out my wand and lit it. The light was brighter, but lacked the vitality of the torch flame. I wandered through the rest of the crypt surrounded by shadows and sickly wand-light. My footsteps raised clouds of dust from the floor that swirled about me disgustingly, and my breath disturbed ancient dusty cobwebs that fluttered distractingly.

Long before I came to the five-pointed chamber I met the first ghost I’d seen in this castle. I came upon him suddenly, as I turned a corner, not noticing the dim light he gave off. He’d had a long, bushy beard and extravagant, bushy eyebrows, and from the daggers sticking out of his back I could guess how he died. I swallowed my scream and bowed a greeting. He merely huffed at me irritably and floated off through one of the walls. So I moved on through the crypt. There was one statue of a man covered in snakes that held my rapt attention for several seconds – he appeared to be terrified but there was something in the eyes and the curve of his screaming mouth that made him seem like he was laughing. I hurried away from it.

Eventually I reached the five-pointed chamber and discovered that the mysterious landmark was some sort of pool. There were two ghosts deep inside of it, illuminating the water as they spiralled around each other, apparently dancing or flirting or something. They were thrilling each other as they weaved around the water. While I peered down at them, they noticed me, and started swimming up towards me. It looked like a man and a woman, both very beautiful. I stood up, wanting to appear polite, but as they emerged from the water without a splash or ripple they started screaming and swirling around my head, trying to pull at my hair and clothes. When they passed through me it was like my skin froze. I was surrounded by a whirlwind of ghostly light and banshee screams, unsure of what to do. Then, just as suddenly, they were gone, leaving darkness and silence. I relit my wand and looked around, seeing no sign of them. There wasn’t even a ripple in the undisturbed water.

I carried on, following the map. The statues were starting to look very old now, crudely carved in different stone with unrealistic eyes and big clunky beards. They were cloaked in thick layers of cobwebs that made them seem almost like mummies. Black dust was piled in drifts, along with the bones of small animals. As I carried on, my wand-light wasn’t bright enough to show the cobwebs in front of me, and I strode through a big thick dusty one that got all kinds of filth in my mouth. I spat violently, but it just dribbled down my chin. I tried casting a wind spell but all it did was raise a cloud of dust that made my light useless in the darkness. I had to put my hand over my sleeve and wait for ages until the dust at least left the air. As it settled I noticed an eerie glow in the dust in front of me. A ghost was floating towards me through the now-murky darkness.

It was like looking at a several-layer X-ray. I could see his skeleton floating amongst his skin, and his eyeballs floated in his eye sockets. I could see his organs wobbling beneath his fur clothing. He also had one of those high furry hats and boots up to his knees. I’ve seen this sort of thing before, in very, very old ghosts. It’s like they’re starting to slowly fade away, washed out by reality over and over again. He said something to me in a language that didn’t sound like Russian, not modern Russian anyway. All I could do was reply that I didn’t understand in the little of the language I knew from the phrasebook. He seemed fairly lucid, though, and tried saying other things to me that I just shook my head at, shrugging apologetically. He shrugged back, but I’d had an idea and was drawing in the dust on the ground. I quickly sketched out a map of the crypt around us, consulting my photo of the map, and marked where I remembered the house-elf map said the secret entrance was. He nodded, hesitantly at first, then said something as he beckoned me to follow him. I was equally hesitant.

He showed me through the darkness to a passageway that contained no statues, only stone shelves that seem to have been carved into the rock of the mountain itself. On these old shelves were ancient, crumbling bones. There were long racks of femurs. Arm bones and rib cages stretched away into the darkness, lined up neatly. The ghost led me to a tremendous set of skulls, piled up like bricks. He was motioning at one of the skulls. I looked at him incredulously and he motioned again, pointing at it insistently. I gave it a glance and I could instantly tell something was wrong with it. While the other skulls were all crumbling and decrepit, this one looked fresh. He was indicating for me to touch it. Before I did anything, I checked my various maps, and sure enough I was at the right place. With my wand at the ready, prepared for this to be an ancient trap, I took a deep breath and tapped the skull with a fingernail.

It felt like ceramic. The workmanship was spectacular – it looked exactly like a human skull. I tapped it with my wand experimentally, but nothing happened, so I pushed down on it with my hand. The ghost nodded encouragingly, and I pushed harder. Immediately, there was the sound of grinding stone, and the creak of rusted metal somewhere in the wall behind the shelves. The bottom-most shelf started trembling violently, and it slowly folded away. Debris was being shaken loose from the high vaulted ceiling in the darkness above me. I watched the shelf full of skulls withdraw into the wall, and a couple of them were shaken loose from their centuries-old resting place to shatter on the ground.

The disappeared shelf had revealed a black, narrow space low to the ground. I crouched down to peer into it, expecting something else. But it seemed this was it; this tiny hole was the secret passage.

“You can’t be serious,” I muttered, and the ghost said something. It was a really bad idea to go through that hole. I was already ducking my head through.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

The space behind the hole looked pretty big, and I’ve found my way out of worse places than that. Not many places, and not much worse, but still. Onwards and downwards, as they say. So I rolled through the tiny hole, getting dust and debris and cobwebs all over my clothes. I was glad I’d worn dark fabrics.

The cave was absolutely freezing. It was dark and wet, and my wand-light shone off the icy, damp cave walls. I was at the top of a reasonably long tunnel, leading downwards. There was the mute echo of running water from somewhere far below me in the darkness. Behind me the shelf swivelled back into place on a thick stone hinge, driven by magic or a mechanism that I couldn’t see. It ground shut noisily, drowning out the sound of the water, and thumping shut. I swore – I should have expected the secret doorway to shut behind me. I kicked at the wall bitterly, not letting myself feel the fear of being trapped in the forgotten dark beneath a terrible castle in a foreign country, many miles away from home. At least the air in the cave was fresh and biting, so unlike the foetid stench of death in the crypt.

I clambered down the tunnel, careful of my footing on the slippery stones. With one hand I held onto the walls, and with the other I raised my wand high above me, shining it like a torch into the deep tunnel. After several minutes of climbing I was walking on sand, and the sound of the running water was even louder, echoing off the cavern walls like thunder. In the sand beneath me there were footprints. There were dozens of them, all the same size, heading back and forth across the sand along one path. The ones on top still looked fresh and sharp, but it was hard to tell exactly how old they were with nothing but the slightest of breezes to disturb the damp sand.

I was both heartened and dismayed by this. It meant there was more than one way out, probably. But it also meant that I might not be alone down here. I wondered if that was worse than being all by myself. I felt in my bag for the blobby photo of William – or myself, it was hard to tell – and put it in the pocket of my waistcoat, patting it for reassurance. It didn’t give me much.

I carried on down, following the incline of the tunnel. My maps were vague on the specific layout of the caves but I could tell where I was, roughly. There were some strange markings on the house-elf map, on what looked like my path ahead. I was so busy looking at them, trying to puzzle out whether they were letters or faces, that I almost blundered straight over a cliff ledge. I caught my balance just at the last second and gasped as I swayed backwards, reaching out to grab onto the wall behind me. I kept hold of my wand but I dropped the elf’s map into the void. I swore again as the strange, leathery artefact fluttered away.

I had the presence of mind to summon it back with my wand, wondering at the incalculable value of the things it described. Then I glanced fearfully down into the chasm below me. The sound of a thunderous waterfall was coming from somewhere down there, and if I’d lost the elf map, I very much doubt any force on Earth would have been able to reclaim it. Of course, the same also went for my own body.

There was a thin ledge to the side. I shone my light down it, and it seemed like the ledge was continuous enough to be the path. With one hand on the wall and my handbag scraping against the rock behind me, I inched my way along it into the darkness, praying that it would widen out. The angle of the path was becoming far too smooth for my liking, but at least there were no pebbles to dislodge and send tumbling into the darkness. After far too long, I could see the path finally begin to become sturdier. As I carried on, it eventually became so wide that I didn’t need to inch my way along with my back to the wall. Of course, I still did, just to be on the safe side.

I stopped to relieve some of the tension, and that’s when I heard footsteps carried towards me on the wind. I was right about not being alone down here with the roar of water. They were ahead of me – I waited to see whether they were approaching or if we were both headed in the same direction. After some time the footsteps faded away. I carried on, slower this time. Whoever it was, I certainly didn’t want to run into them in this situation, where it was all too easy to be blamelessly lost forever to the dark pit of ice and water far below me.

I carried on until the ledge widened quickly and became another cave, left long vacant by the water that had eroded it. In the darkness I could see a shadow moving ahead of me. I silently turned down my wand-light but it was too late, and the figure had already seen me. It turned suddenly, and I saw a thick-skinned white face, waxy white bat-ears and wide, gaunt eyes that seemed to glow red in the darkness. It hissed at me.

“Vampire,” I said. He spat something at me in Russian, and it didn’t sound good. With my wand pointed at him, I glanced quickly around me. Nothing but the stone walls of the cave towering high above me, the thin floor of sand between me and him, the roar of the water beneath me and the freezing air on my skin. I couldn’t go back – nothing that way but a long drop into the darkness. My goal was beyond the vampire, and it seemed like he didn’t want to let me pass. “I know where I’m going,” I growled at him, “I wonder what you’re doing down here.”

He hissed at me again, and adopted a posture like an angry cat, with his hands out like claws and his back hunched over warily. He bared his fangs, with a black tongue wiggling amongst them like a vicious little worm. The display made me shudder. And then he lunged at me, driven forwards with unnatural strength, driving his long fingernails at where I used to be before I darted to the side. I drove him onwards by grabbing his arm, putting one hand behind his back and using his momentum to slam him into the cave wall. I ground his face into the rock, hoping that he’d smashed his teeth. With a violent grunt he pushed off from the wall, throwing me backwards. I fired a curse at him awkwardly, the angle of my wand far too wide, and he dived away just in time. From the side he knocked into me with the full weight of his body, and I was hurled onto the sand. He lunged at me again, but I caught him with my legs and flipped him over me, sending him into the air. But he couldn’t fly, and landed behind me with a crunchy thud.

I struggled to my feet, but he was up at the same time, and he grabbed me by the neck. I choked as his grip tightened and his face came closer to mine. His breath reeked of old meat, and as my vision started to blur I tried to breath despite the stench. He shook the wand from my hand. His beady red eyes stared into mine, and then he glanced down at my lip. Late last night I had bitten it so hard that I’d drawn a little blood. As I choked for air, his wormy black tongue darted out of his mouth and hovered over the tiny cut in my lip, as if smelling the air for it. And then I felt his cold flesh pressed against my lip as he licked my cut. I remember his demonic eyes rolling up into his head in pleasure.

He was so distracted by this that with my free hand I could dig into my handbag for anything I could use. My hand closed around my camera, which I snatched up and pointed at him. I shut my eyes tight and pushed the button. The cave was suddenly illuminated. He lurched backwards, burnt and blinded by the flash, and his claws were dragged across my skin as we flew in opposite directions. I landed painfully on the sand, checking my neck anxiously, but he hadn’t broken the skin. He’d flung himself clear of the small circle of light cast by my wand, and there’d been a moist crunch as he landed in the darkness. I could hear his pained groaning somewhere in the cave. Past experience of vampires has taught me that they bounce back quickly though, so I shot several curses into the darkness that would hopefully petrify him as I turned and fled onwards into the tunnel.

I was running for several minutes, slipping and stumbling in the wet sand of the cave floor, trying to watch out for any sudden holes. Very quickly I could hear something in front of me. Maybe the vampire had clambered over the walls, spider-like, speeding along above me to come at me from a surprise angle. But whatever it was it sounded slow, and big. I heard it roar in the darkness, and despite the long echoes I recognised the terrible cry of a mountain troll on the hunt.

I’ve had dealings with trolls before, but not many because they’re usually too stupid to know anything. The troll was ahead of me, but the vampire was somewhere behind me. I took the photograph of William from my waistcoat pocket and sent the little two-dimensional messenger off to do its job. It had to inform William that I was in dire trouble. But if he received the message, whether he was still lecturing or not, there really wasn’t much he’d be able to do.

I could already hear the thunderous footsteps coming towards me from far below in the cave. I know a few words of trollish so I thought maybe I’d be able to reason with it, or at least get it to help me fight off the vampire long enough for me to get away, so I kept hurrying towards it.

When I finally saw it, it was too late to do anything. There had been no decent hiding places, and the thing could probably smell me anyway. It was thundering towards me like an elephant and I was still stumbling down the passageway. I could have slowed down as it raised its club, but instead I dived through its legs. Its knee caught me on the hip and I tumbled painfully to the sand once more, but at least I wasn’t underfoot. I looked up at it quickly, but it didn’t seem to realise where I had gone. Its thick wooden club was still raised above it and it was looking around confused, scratching its head with the other hand. I noticed saggy grey breasts beneath its animal hide clothing, and also lots of deep wounds on its arms and back. Some of them looked very old, but some of them were fresh. As the troll started to turn, I saw a black shape emerge from the darkness behind her, and the vampire pounced upon the troll.

The troll screamed in pain as the vampire dug its teeth into her flesh. Troll’s blood is a potent magical ingredient in some potions, but notoriously hard to obtain. It’s also similar enough to human that vampires crave it. The troll was staggering backwards, giving in to the pull of gravity in the downward-sloping tunnel. I was on my feet and retreating from the scene, heading down into the tunnel, just moments away from being crushed by the troll’s feet each step she took. The troll roared as it span around, performing some sort of strange ballet, flailing with its club and trying to reach the savage vampire on her back. I could hear the vampire suckling noisily, greedily, beneath the terrified, pained screeching the troll was making.

The club smashed against the cave wall, and then she flailed it across the narrow space and smashed the other wall. I felt the tremors beneath my feet as she stomped around angrily. Then she dropped the club and started smashing her back against the stone, making what felt like small earthquakes. The vampire was climbing over her shoulder and biting at her neck. I dodged the club as it landed heavily, fleeing in terror now. I slipped on the sand again, managed to keep my feet but narrowly missed a back-handed swipe from the troll as she tried to swat the vampire.

Suddenly she was on her back, rolling around, making the cavern tremble terrifyingly. There were cracks appearing all around her, and rocks falling from the ceiling. I couldn’t see the cave roof high above me but I could guess that the troll’s struggle was taking its toll on this ancient rock structure. I was having trouble controlling my descent into the dark cave, fleeing from the monsters and the impending cave in. The rocks from high above were getting bigger and bigger, the rumbling now permanent. One stalactite fell from the darkness that was as big as me. 

I was scurrying quicker than the troll was moving, but the vampire seemed intent. In a few moments I lost the two monsters behind walls of crumbling stone, but the cave-in hadn’t stopped so I had to keep moving, gibbering with fear in the darkness. Eventually the rock high above me must have settled back into equilibrium because the stones stopped falling and the rumbling stopped, leaving only the distant echo of grinding stone. Panting, I took a break, listening closely for any signs of life from the passage above and behind me. The maps told me I’d soon find the cave splitting off into different ways. I had the presence of mind to start spraying the sand of the cave floor into a mess to hide my footprints, just in case either of the monsters had survived the rock-fall.

I took one of the turnings, following the maps, spraying away my footprints as I went. The tunnel started to lead upwards again, eventually. There was a lot more walking, but now it was a rocky path rather than sand. It looked like it had once been carved long ago. There were signs of rust on the walls, where there had been some sort of metal set into the stone. The breeze was blowing upwards too, carrying my hair with it. After several more minutes I could see a light up ahead, and it wasn’t the reflection of my wand-light. I remained careful, picking my way through the last of the cave but in my heart I was hurrying, impatient to get to the light ahead of me.

It was the vent I was looking for. It was nothing but a dried up drain, really. It was circular and roughly my height, the rusted metal grille easy to pull away with a quick wand-blast to the heavy screws holding it in place. I stepped into it and followed the cave upwards once more, at last. Air was blasting into my face, and it got warmer the closer I got. The drain was getting narrower too. I could smell smoke and metal and steam, and as the drain grew steeper I could hear the sound of hammers. It sounded familiar.

The drain was practically vertical now, and I was bent double. I had to brace my feet against one side of the pipe and my back against the other, slowly squirming my way up. I was dozens of feet up the pipe before I saw where the bright, fiery light was coming from. It was another circular metal grille, smaller than the first, but equally rusted. And behind that there was the same nightmare I had seen in the mirror in Lvov’s chambers. The grille was at floor-level in the room I was looking into, so everything seemed looming and gigantic. It was all there, just as in my earlier vision – the boilers, the molten metal, the anvils and the slaves. Slabs of ore suspended by thick chains and sheets of metal dangling from hooks slid along rails high above the workers. The roar of the furnaces was deafening, punctuated by hammering, the clanking of chains and metal. I could almost make out the crack of whips amidst the cries of misery. It smelt like ash, iron, soot and sweat.

From my angle I could now see who was working in the awful factory. It was elves, mostly, but there were also dozens of humans toiling away in the heat and darkness. They were smeared with soot and sweat, several of them had bad burns and all of them were wearing rags and coughing in the filthy air. I ducked as a pair of black boots suddenly stepped in front of the drain cover. They were walking away from me, slowly revealing the shape of a squat, stocky man wearing a thick leather overall, oily leather gloves and a heavy gas mask. Smears of soot covered his naked, scorched back, his hairy shoulders and arms. His wand was pocking out of the back pocket of his coarse, filthy trousers, and a long whip was curled in his hand.

I decided against trying to squirm out of the grille in front of me, and carried on up the pipe. At least the width stayed constant, which was a blessing, but my legs were killing me and I could feel the old rusted metal of the pipe tearing up the back of my waistcoat. I climbed up several dozen feet and the pipe turned, becoming horizontal. I struggled into this new length awkwardly, glad of the rest, and spent five minutes recovering my strength. Then it was a simple matter of squirming along the pipe to the next grille. It was above me – I slowly undid the screws and lifted the thing to the side, then sat up. The air here was even more packed full of choking smog and floating ash. Leaning precariously over the lip of the pipe, I saw that I was now high above the factory floor, and I could see a lot more of what they were doing.

A few of the wheelbarrows were piled high with strange, gigantic helmets and complicated gauntlets. There were bigger trolleys being moved around with other parts of armour. I started taking photos of the activity below me, with the flashbulb off. Whatever was being built here didn’t look very friendly. Through the smoke and steam I could see a big archway with heavy black doors, guarded by dozens of wizards, many of them wearing gas masks. As I watched, the doors opened. The slaves below me were cringing away, slinking into the shadows where they could. Through the narrow door came men holding the arms of two struggling figures, heavy sacks over their heads. Behind them came Lvov, who inhaled the poisonous air deeply, as if savouring it. He said something to the men wearing the bags, then pulled them off with a flourish. I gasped to see William and Bradley down there. William was missing his eye patch, and a bruise was swelling up on the other side of his face. I watched the horror that spread over William’s features, and felt that same fear keenly. It now seemed that I had to free William and Bradley, and then escape with them from this terrible place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I figured out much later what must have gone on while I was down in the caves. Apparently when William had finished his lecture – having alienated the audience, his long talk on spatial distortion had gone down like a lead balloon – the high-master invited Bradley and him for brandy and cigars. They had retired to one of the rooms at the back of the auditorium, and Lvov had spoken in Russian while Bradley translated. Lvov had flattered William with talk about his unique gifts, his imaginative vision and his obvious talent at magic. Then they’d discussed William’s duty to share his gift with the world, and Lvov had offered him the chance to see some of their work. William had been glad to, but the school staff had all insisted on him signing a non-disclosure agreement in blood. Then the photo of me in his pocket had started making noise, William had refused to sign, and things had turned nasty. They had kidnapped both Bradley and William then dragged them all the way down into this bottommost dungeon. Apparently ‘seeing some of their work’ had been a euphemism for participating in whatever it was happening deep below Durmstrang.

The two men were prodded forwards by vicious-looking wizards, wincing as the wands jabbed into their back with magical shocks. Bradley and William were looking around at the cavernous factory, and I briefly considered letting them know I was up by the roof. Instead I thought it might be more useful to get down, so I carefully climbed along the outside of the pipe to where it went into the wall. From there it was only a short drop onto a metal staircase encircling one of the smelting furnaces, and I could sneak down into the shadows. I followed Bradley and William as they were led through the factory, ducking from shadow to shadow. They were marched to what looked like a hut built out of riveted steel amidst the other factory equipment. Although the large windows were smeared with soot, I could see another group of wizards and witches inside the large shed. Most of them were old, but there were a few young ones. All of them looked gaunt and stressed. I was only mildly surprised when I noticed that William’s fan, the blonde witch named Yana, was also inside the shed. They all looked up with alarm as Bradley and William were brought in.

They were working at metal desks, drawing charms and sketching arithmantic symbols on the chalkboards around the walls. There were bottles of potions bubbling and distilling, but the main focus appeared to be on the silver mechanical orb on a stand in the centre of the room. I snuck closer to the shack, circling around it, and discovered there was a window ajar that I could listen at. There was an angry dispute going on inside, in Russian, between the apparently captive wizards and the thugs who had brought in William and Bradley. With my limited understanding of the language, it sounded like they were upset about William having been hit. Although I couldn’t see anything, there was a flash of light from inside the window and the argument abruptly ceased. I risked a peek over the window sill, but I couldn’t see anyone hurt. It must have been some sort of warning shot. Lvov and the thugs all left, locking the door behind them and leaving one man standing outside.

I thought that was stupid, but then there were more guards on the doors into the factory and an entire castle above us. I watched Lvov and the others stride away into the gloom of the factory, Lvov holding a handkerchief over his face. When I was sure they were gone, I leaned around the corner slightly and cast a spell to make the guard fall into a deep, enchanted sleep. He collapsed forwards like a board onto his face, and I could hear him snoring loudly. I could have petrified him, but he’d have still seen me and I’d rather preserve as much anonymity and element of surprise as I could. With the last of my strength I dragged his body into the shadow between the shack and an unused piece of stamping machinery.

The lock on the door was another matter. I tried every enchantment, spell and incantation I knew, but nothing worked. This was one of the most magic locks I had ever encountered. Of course, I was also working as quickly as I could whilst ducking into the shadows whenever I heard someone coming, with their trolleys and wagons. Eventually I became frustrated enough to stand back and think about this from another angle, and it was a simple matter to dig through the guard’s pockets for the key. There was a lot of high-powered magic being used in this castle, but not much common sense.

“Lucinda!” William exclaimed. “What are you doing here? What  _ happened _ to you?”

I looked down at myself. I was covered in crypt-dust, cobwebs, cave-sand, slime and mould from the pipe and finally soot from the factory.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, ignoring him. There was another bout of arguing in Russian, which Bradley joined in fervently. “What’s happening?” I asked him.

“Not everyone wants to go. What they’re doing is essential for the future of their country,” he said, exasperated. I noticed Yana at the back of the room. 

“You, I know you speak English. What are they actually doing here?”

“I… I can’t tell you. How do you know me?” she demanded.

“William, what does it look like they’re doing?” I demanded, ignoring her too. William peered around the room, and I couldn’t help but flinch away from his empty eye socket. It was so cursed that it wouldn’t even permit the presence of a glass eye, let alone an enchanted prosthetic or a magical re-growth.

“Well, it looks like they’re working on the same spatial principles from my book,” he said, walking around the room and looking at the chalk markings. “But this looks… interesting…” he muttered, distracted by the formulae.

“William, what is it?” I asked again. He turned to stare wide-eyed at the metal sphere in the centre of the room. It was riddled with holes, with gears and switches and spinning axles sticking out at every angle.

“It’s… well, it’s not impossible, per se…” he was breathing in awe.

“William!”

“If I’m right then it’s some sort of mechanical brain. It’s enchanted enough to build itself new components. It can adapt and develop its own mechanism. It must be incredibly complicated in there. A true expression of W to the power of N, because the layers of space must be nearly infinite. This is incredibly dangerous,” he said, suddenly sounding accusatory.

“How is it dangerous?” I pressed him.

“If the internal space of say, an enchanted trunk, was collapsed? Then it would explode. But this thing has enough layered reality to be able to simulate consciousness itself. Simulate, or actually  _ be _ conscious. If W was reduced to T then the reaction would be enough to blow a hole in the planet! Why did you build this?” he demanded of Yana, who had been looking terrified ever since I came in. William was scanning over the markings on the boards again, filtering through the paper notes on the desks. “Bradley, help me with some of this?” he asked, and I carefully watched the other wizards as they muttered to each other, Bradley translating the notes.

“What did you do to the guards?” Yana asked me.

“It was just one guard. And he’s fine,” I said. “But we need to move before Lvov and the others come back.”

“It is worse than that. We need to stop what is happening here,” she told me, but then the other Russian wizards started shouting at her. She said something that made them shut up, and then said to me, “It is more dangerous and more evil than you can imagine.”

“Wormholes!” William exclaimed like it was a curse. “She’s right, we can’t just leave!” he told me.

“Why?” Bradley and I demanded together.

“There are a dozen wormholes in that machine, but they’re multiplied. They’d have to be one-directional, obviously. This thing is part of countless other machines, if these calculations are right. But they’re not right, are they,” he said, frowning.

“What are you fucking talking about?” I snapped. William paused as he discovered another sheet of diagrams. The drawing was moving. Several sketches of clockwork components were flying across the sheet of paper, combining more quickly than I could keep track of. The cogs, pistons and hinges slowly resolved into what looked like a clockwork man. William was excitedly looking at each part of the drawing as it flew across the paper.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

“It’s some sort of mechanical person,” Bradley observed. William was pointing excitedly at some markings inside the torso of the drawing.

“Yana, is this the interface?” he demanded. She nodded.

“Oh, now you can talk about it?” I said sarcastically.

“We are allowed to discuss it with people who already know. Otherwise it would be impossible to work together,” she said.

“Well, what  _ is  _ it? We’re running out of time!” I stressed.

“Right, Lucinda, listen carefully-” William began, and I hated his tone.

“I  _ always _ listen carefully,” I snapped weakly. He paused, taking a deep breath. His expression seemed to soften and he became much less frantic.

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry. This is all moving very fast. I’m glad you’re here, Lucinda. Also, I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you when you needed my help. I suppose my brilliant plan wasn’t very brilliant after all, eh?”

“When are they ever?” I said, but my voice was softer, friendlier. I was appeased by his apology.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was investigating.”

“You could have just stayed with us,” William said, “You’d still have seen this place.”

“No, because I’d have been on the inside, wouldn’t I. Now, take it slowly, and explain what I’m looking at, and what it has to do with why we can’t leave yet.”

“Well, this thing is a clockwork man. But it’s missing a brain. It’s a pointless object, really. You can power it, but it won’t do anything. That thing over there,” he pointed at the sphere, “That’s a brain. It’s enchanted enough so that it can be the brain for an entire army of clockwork men. The wormholes are very, very clever. Like a magic door that you walk through, and enter a million rooms at the same time, you know?”

“I know muggle science,” I reminded him.

“Oh, yes. Right. Excellent,” he said, and smiled a maniac grin briefly, “A radio signal goes out and is picked up by a million receivers. That thing is broadcasting instructions via cogs and wormholes. The brain controls countless mechanical men. There’s no way for the men to relay information to the brain, though. It would need a way to receive data, to incorporate the information into the bigger working of itself… That’s why I’m here, isn’t it,” he demanded of Yana suddenly.

“We did not think it would be a problem at first,” Yana continued, “But the brain, as you call it, cannot interpret the data coming out of the mobile units. Our leaders are working us harder and harder while they build more and more of the soldiers! They are obsessed with building a blind, obedient, inexhaustible army! They were growing so desperate that they were even willing to invite a low-born wizard from England if they thought he could help.”

“Army?” I said, alarmed. I was only half-sure I had followed what William had been saying, but ‘army’ was a word I recognised completely.

“They think the wizards of England are soft, and weakened after the civil war. They think the time is for conquer,” Yana continued, her English faltering. The other Russian wizards were all muttering amongst each other, angrily.

“We can stop them all, right here,” William told me.

“Oh I see!” I said, almost happily, “So we’re on a sabotage mission now? Well, why didn’t you say so?! We smash the brain and then we get out.”

“We can’t smash the brain. I told you.”

“Oh yes. A hole in the planet. Well, we get the brain-ball out and then destroy the factory,” I said, looking out of the windows at the industrious surroundings. “And then we escape.”

Suddenly one of the angry Russian wizards leapt towards us, trying to make a break for the door. Luckily we were all still between him and his escape, and Bradley acted before I could say anything. He petrified the man. He had his wand aimed at the other wizards in the blink of an eye, standing between them and William. I got behind him with my own wand while Bradley told them to stay still. William motioned Yana over to us, and she ran across the room while several of the Russians made a grab for her. Bradley petrified two of them, leaving a dozen, all warily watching his wand-tip.

“What the hell do we do with them?” Bradley asked.

“Yana, which ones are on our side?” William said to her. I didn’t like the way she was clinging to his arm, but this was no time for silly emotion.

“We can’t trust them,” Bradley said.

“We leave this room and lock them inside,” I said, turning over the layout of the factory in my mind.

“You have a plan already?”

“It’s not exactly rocket wizardry,” I joked. William picked up the silvery, mechanical orb gingerly.

“Put it in my handbag,” I told him.

“There’s no telling how it would react to spatial distortion. I’ll need to carry it myself,” he said, watching it very carefully with his wide eye.

The four of us left the room and I locked the door behind us, leaving the wizards and witches inside, pounding on the thick enchanted glass. I led them down one of the avenues between two large boilers, hid from a limping man with a wheelbarrow and then darted across a long row of anvils being used to shape massive helmets. We snuck around a massive machine that was stamping out tiny cogs and then hid behind a tall stack of metal plates. William carried the metal orb very carefully the whole time, slowing us down.

“What’s the plan?” he asked me.

“Yana, you’re employed by the school, right?”

“Yes.”

“And the house-elves are owned by the school, right?”

“Pardon me? What is… house elf?”

“House elves are dom el-fov,” Bradley supplied.

“The el-fov are owned by the school?” I insisted.

“I am not sure. I suppose so.”

“Well, we’ll find out. Do me a favour and summon Pakobna.”

“What is Pakobna?” she asked, growing increasingly confused.

“Pakobna is one of the el-fov,” I explained, but the magic had worked and the woman, who was technically one of the owners of the elf, had succeeded in summoning him. He appeared and looked around at the four of us, his old, weathered face reasonably surprised. When he saw me his face contorted into a grim smile.

“Bradley, translate for me, alright? Pakobna, if we free you, what will you do?”

“What?” exclaimed Yana. I silenced her, and waited for Pakobna to tell Bradley, who told me,

“He says he’ll free his brothers and sisters, or die trying.”

“What if we free his brothers and sisters for him?” I asked. As Bradley translated, Pakobna looked at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“You can’t!” insisted Yana.

“He says he would be forever in your debt. Also he says that he would destroy this place, down to the very last stone, for the things that have been done to his people.”

“Are we sure we want him to go that far?” William asked.

“Do we have much of a choice?” I said. He looked reluctant to answer. “Yana, where do you keep the armour for those clockwork soldiers? Can we use it to clothe the elves?”

“Yes, I suppose. Some of it might be a bit big, but there is a storage room.”

“Excellent. We’ll start there. Lead the way.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

We wound our way once more through the factory, hiding from the workers for now. We were down a sort of alleyway, slinking between a smelting furnace and a coal silo. Between the two structures, a chain of elves were shovelling the coal from the silo to the furnace hatch. A man in a leather apron was striding up and down the line, bellowing at them from behind his thick gas mask. Since we’d already been petrifying people, I shot a spell at him. I quickly stripped him of all his clothing, but kept it with me until we reached the ‘armoury’. The rest of the elves followed us, some of them punishing themselves or each other in their own way but each following.

The storage room was more of a warehouse. There were tall stacks of plate mail for torsos, and some arrangements of chain mail. But behind these piles there were shelves of countless helmets, all in different styles. I saw Pakobna’s dour expression brighten when he saw them. The other elves were all instinctively lined up behind him, and I felt quite sorry for them. Even at their moment of revolution, they were servile and patient.

“Ask him which one he would like,” I ordered Bradley. He did, and Pakobna pointed at a simple iron helmet with two metal spikes either side.

“Why did you build them with heads?” William was asking Yana.

“At first we did not, but the leaders thought that the heads would provide a decoy target. And that they would be terrifying, of course.”

I took down the spiked, Viking-like helmet and handed it to her. She looked at it uncertainly.

“Right now? I just give it to him?” she hesitated.

“Yes,” I said. She reached out and grabbed Pakobna’s skinny arm, and placed the helmet in his hand. He sagged beneath the weight, and when she let go of his arm he reverently put the helmet on his head. With his long, hooked nose sticking out from beneath it, and his little scrawny body slouching beneath the heavy helmet, part of me wanted to laugh. But then I saw his fierce, crazy eyes in the shadow of the helm, illuminated like there was a fire behind them. His teeth were jagged, yellow and sharp as he grinned, and then he vanished.

“What? Where did he go?” William said, surprised. Pakobna reappeared almost instantly, carrying several of the various swords that I’d seen in the hallway to Lvov’s bathroom. As Yana handed out more of the helmets, the reaction from the elves was wildly varied. For some it seemed like they were waking up. Others screamed. Lots of them just laughed and danced. Some didn’t react at all. All of them were donning their helmets, mostly similarly spiked, and several of them picked up swords. Thus armed, many of the elves disappeared to fetch more elves, and soon there were over a hundred of them in the storage room. The air was ringing with the sound of joyous elves as they sat on the shelves, looted what armour they could wear and threw around what they couldn’t. Some of them danced, some of them kissed, many of them were talking angrily with each other in Russian and gesturing with their swords. Yana and Bradley were looking at them all, appalled, which made me glad I couldn’t understand what the angry ones were saying.

Pakobna whistled loudly, looking much more vigorous. He pointed to the ceiling and disappeared, reappearing clinging from one of the high rafters, resting his sword atop where he was dangling. He reached out an arm, pointed a finger at the flat roof above us, and with a glowing finger he drew the symbol for elf-war in the stone itself. The grinding noise silenced any of the elves who hadn’t already turned their eyes towards him. As I was looking up, some of the stony grit fell in my eye, and I had to blink it out painfully.

“What is that?” Yana muttered at me.

“Bradley, tell Pakobna there is a troll in the caves beneath this castle. If he can magic it up into the castle, it’ll add to the chaos.” Bradley was looking very pale and worried, but he did so. Pakobna looked from him to me, and nodded while he grinned evilly. Pakobna started issuing orders to the elves from where he was hanging in the rafters, and various groups of elves disappeared into thin air. “Ask him if that’s all the elves.”

“He says it isn’t. Not yet.”

“Well, we’re running out of helmets,” I said. Yana was still handing them out but the shelves were nearly all empty now.

“I can start shrinking the other armour,” William suggested, handing the silvery brain-ball to Bradley.

There were screams and loud bangs coming from outside the store-room. Pakobna vanished briefly from the ceiling, returning with several other elves already wearing clothing. He was dishing out orders and assigning jobs across the whole room, and it seemed like every elf was obeying him.

“Once we’ve freed every single elf, it’s a simple matter of getting them to apparate us up through the castle to the car and then we can all fly away,” I said, feeling quite pleased.

“We shouldn’t apparate the ball. That would be horribly dangerous,” William warned me, and I sighed impatiently.

“You could have told me that before everything outside this room became a warzone,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“So we’re going on foot then. Fine. Bradley, ask Pakobna very nicely if he wouldn’t mind moving our luggage to the car. Yana, tell him now if there’s anything you want to take with you. We’re going to have to leg it to the car through the whole castle. William, Bradley, do you remember the way?”

“They put hoods on us,” Bradley said, watching William shrink more armour and hand it to Yana, who gave it to more and more elves.

“Yana, do you know the way out to the courtyard?”

“Yes, but your car is not there anymore. It is in the stables.”

“Hey, when Durmstrang went to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, they travelled on a magical underwater galleon. Is that around? Can we steal it?” William suggested.

“I do not know where that is,” Yana said apologetically.

“Do you know where the stables are?” asked William, handing her yet more armour.

“I do. But it will not be an easy journey.”

“We’ll see,” I said, and got out my maps. With Bradley’s help, I planned out a route that would take us through the least busy areas of the castle, using secret passages and side-corridors where possible.

After several long minutes, the elves stopped turning up for clothing. Pakobna confirmed that any elves who wanted freedom had now been given it, and most of them were now busily disassembling the factory outside. The four of us left the storage room, and the scene that met my eyes was grisly. The furnaces were dying in clouds of black steam, while the coal silos were burning out of control in giant infernos. Amongst the massive structures there were the ruined, butchered bodies of those who had worn the gas masks and carried the whips. Their blood was spilling out over the factory floor, drying quickly in the heat of the fire. The smell of it was mingling with the smell of the metal and coal dust in the air, and I choked as we made our way towards the exit.

We went past the metal research shed but the wizards inside had escaped, or been stolen away by the elves. I saw one of the small creatures wearing a shrunken chest plate and a gas mask, carrying a battle-axe, who was beckoning us onwards. We ran past more bodies, leapt over a pool of glowing, molten metal that was spilling out over the factory floor with a sinister hissing, bubbling noise and made it to the big double doors. One of the guards was lying still on the floor, but the other had been pinned to the wall by the thick shaft of a spear through his torso. I hoped for his sake he was dead.

The chamber outside the factory was full of more death. There were two elves clinging to the rafters, and with strength that surprised me they were dangling one of the guard-wizards high above the floor. They were taunting him, cackling malevolently, jiggling him and swinging him around. It was obvious how this would end – he would be dropped, whether accidentally or on purpose, and dash his brains on the stone floor – so I hurried the other three along, up to the wide staircase that spiralled up. We sprinted up these stairs, with William and Bradley taking turns in carrying the deadly ball. The top of the staircase led out to the bottommost corridor of the castle, and now we were back on the map. Left, then second right, took us to one of the ancient torture chambers.

I had been expecting obsolete lumps of rust, covered in cobwebs and dust, but a lot of the machines looked distressingly well-maintained. There was a stretching wrack, a set of thumb-screws on one of the plain wooden tables, and chains dangling from all the walls. Elves were all over this room, smashing it to bits with iron bars and axes. The secret passage we were seeking was inside an iron maiden – if one of the bent spikes was turned in the right way, the back would fall away into a long deep corridor. The elves looked at us suspiciously as we walked through, but they all knew us from the storage room where we’d given them their freedom. Something like bloodlust shone in their eyes, but they left us alone.

The passage was much colder than I imagined, probably because the high ceiling was lost in darkness, if indeed there was a ceiling. Our breath made huge clouds of fog, and we could hear the distant echoes of shouting, curses and spells filtering down from the castle above us.

“What have I done,” Yana was muttering to herself, and it sounded like she was in shock.

“You did what you had to do,” I told her harshly.

“Yana, listen. This wasn’t your fault. From the sound of it the elves have been horribly abused here, and they’ve been itching for a way to get out,” said William.

“You mean my friends and colleagues deserve this?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying, this was going to happen sooner or later. It was inevitable. You didn’t do it.”

“The el-fov in your country did not do this though?”

“Well, no. In my country we don’t make them work in dungeons, or torture them. I mean, usually anyway.”

“Shush,” I told him. From high above us I could hear loud bangs and booms, and that distinctive roar. Clearly Pakobna had brought the troll up into the sunlight, and it was enraged. The wizards were trying to fight it off. Trolls are notoriously immune to magic, which makes most wizards and witches terrified because they lack the common sense to just take it on physically. It might be thick-skinned but a troll responds to being crushed just like everything else. I wondered briefly where the vampire was.

We came out of the passage from behind a book case into one of the library annexes. The elves hadn’t taken an interest in this place yet, and all the staff were outside busily fighting. William’s eyes widened in pleasure as the sight of all the books, even despite the situation we were in. I had to physically tug him away from one shelf of tall leather-bound books the height of my arm.

Outside the library a battle was raging. I pushed open the doors a crack and stared through as the wizards tried to make a stand against the elves, but the elves were basically ignoring them. While the wizards tried to fire curses at the armoured creatures crawling towards them along the floor, walls and ceilings, more of them appeared behind each of the wizards, apparating directly onto their heads. Some of them slit the wizard’s throats with swords, others just burned through their flesh into their jugular veins or carotid arteries. They apparated away in mid-air before the bodies hit the floor, moving onto the wizards further down the corridor while the swarm of decoy elves came crawling past, swarming like locusts over every surface in the passage. As the wave swept over the fallen wizards, they dug their swords into the bodies of the wizards. I didn’t know if were they killing the wounded or merely attacking everything that could still bleed. Blood was bubbling over the stone floor, dripping from the walls and ceiling. Smoke and ash was fuming up from the burning factory below, filling the corridors. The gurgle of dead bodies was a soft noise over the distant screams and roars. Nothing was left alive in their wake.

Elf-war.

I stepped back from the doorway, unwilling to see anymore bloodshed. The others were all looking at me.

“It’s not safe out there, is it?” William said.

“Um, no, it’s not safe. Where is the other door to this room?”

“I am not certain,” Yana said. The maps had showed no other way out either, so we had to wait while the battle moved on from the corridor outside. The library was silent but for the explosions vibrating through the walls.

“I hope this library survives, above all else,” Yana said.

“Show me the most valuable books. We can take them with us,” I told her, more to keep them busy while I waited for the fighting to die down outside. Behind her, William was immediately grinning, and turning his eye towards the ceiling-high shelves.

“We should start with the Petrovitch Compendium and then move onto the history books,” Yana was saying, but William interrupted her.

“Are you kidding? The Petrovitch Compendium is an incomplete mess compared to the Hapsburg Volumes. And the history books will take care of themselves, there must be copies in every damn library in your country. We need to get the Waltzer Scrolls, the Alexander discourses and the Moscow papers!”

“The Moscow papers?” Yana demanded, “They are completely useless! We have several essays from Rasputin if you would like to preserve useless wood pulp,” she snapped, and I grinned.

“Essays by Rasputin? Seriously? We should totally preserve them!” William said.

“The man was not a wizard!”

“That is part of a wider debate!” William exclaimed passionately.

“And the Hapsburg Volumes are immense! They would not fit in the bag,” Yana continued.

“Shut up, we’re moving,” I told them, now that the corridor outside the library was completely silent.

“What about the books?” William said.

“They’ll be fine,” I snapped irritably, wishing I’d never mentioned them.

We moved out of the library doors slowly, each of us staring up and down the corridor. Yana was especially appalled by the bodies, weeping loudly and openly as she stepped across the corpses. It occurred to me then that many of these dead wizards were probably students. The coast was clear and we ran all the way to the right, turning left at a T-junction then all the way to another stairwell. We went around the stairs but another fight awaited us.

Lvov was being attacked by at least a dozen of the elves. They were clearly trying every trick they could think of to get through his defensive tactics, but nothing was working. With his wand he was spiralling a shield charm around himself, making it impossible for the elves to apparate onto him. In his other hand he held a rapier with a glowing blue point, and it was twirling through the air with as much finesse and deadliness as his wand. An elf tried to leap at him, but the rapier pinned him and the momentum carried the short body over Lvov’s shoulder as he ducked. He span as he crouched, just in time to bring his sword down and around to slash across the face of an elf, sending it spinning back through the air. Elves were throwing themselves at his shield charm but bouncing off dramatically. I could see now how he’d won so many trophies and awards. His grace, elegance and viciousness were breathtaking.

“We can’t go this way!” Bradley was saying.

There was a pool of blood on the floor, and Lvov lost his footing just as we were turning to go. I acted before I could even think about it, and cast a shield just long enough to hold off the elves while he fell to the floor. He kicked out at one elf, swung up with his sword and spiralled to his feet. His face was smeared with blood, and I panicked for a second until I realised it wasn’t his. As he turned, he saw me, and for a second I saw confusion in his face until the viciousness returned and he blasted an elf against the wall. I followed the others out of the corridor, away from the violent scene.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

We had to duck into a classroom to avoid another raging battle, going through a second door as the fighting spilled in after us. The elves were still leaving us alone but they clawed through the doorway like gas, falling like flies as the stray spells were flying loosely. And then they were appearing in the room itself, screaming as they leapt out of the dark shadows of the room.

Yana led us into another classroom, and then we found ourselves in another corridor. In front of us, several armoured elves were scratching and clawing at the vampire. It was the same one I had fought in the caverns beneath the castle. He had a massive bruise on one side of his face that he’d probably gotten from the troll, but now he was covered in deep scratches and even a few bite marks, his dark robes falling away from his body in tatters and his flesh following swiftly after. It was strange to see the vampire’s role reversed – now he was prey to smaller predators, rather than picking on the big dumb troll. The vampire looked up at me, his bright red eyes in anger and pain, and I could tell that whatever else would happen, he would try to hunt me down and kill me.

Part of me wanted to stop the elves. Not because they would become vampires themselves, because the process for that is a lot more difficult than just drinking the blood and I’m pretty sure elves are immune to it anyway. Rather, I wanted to kill the monster myself, and make sure I didn’t have nightmares about those eyes. But then I saw the look in their faces, the blood smeared over their lips and jagged teeth and pointed nails, the frantic energy in their eyes, the sinewy strength like steel cables in their arms. I drew everyone away, following the other direction of the corridor. We darted into another room full of skeletons of humans, dogs, birds, elves, giants, fish and even giant sea serpents. It was some sort of anatomy classroom. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the room.

“Fucking hell, how do we get out?” William said.

“Is there another way?” I demanded of Yana.

“No! That corridor is the only one that leads to the stables,” she told me.

“Do you know any spells that’ll kill a vampire?” I asked William.

“Not really. The only thing in the world I’ve ever heard of is a wooden steak through the heart. They’re incredibly durable. I’ve read about them walking away from fires, tidal waves, earthquake and even volcanoes. Light and garlic hurt, but that’s all. It’s like they’re functionally immortal. That’s why some people are willing to overlook the whole preying on the weak thing.”

“So there’s nothing we can do to clear the corridor out there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, find us some wooden spears. Smash that door, for example.” William shot a quick spell in its direction and the door exploded into pieces. Each was smouldering and splintered. I picked up a bit of wood to test, but it was terrible. It basically crumbled in my hand.

“When I said smash the door, I meant do it like in a way we could use,” I said. He looked suitably abashed. I sighed, because I knew exactly where to find a suitable piece of wood, but I didn’t want to endanger it.

I pulled out my wand and strode through the smashed doorway, seeing that the vampire had thrown off the elves, smashing their tiny heads against the wall. He had pulled the helmet off one and was draining it of blood. The poor creatures eyes were rolling back, and it seemed like the small figure was actually deflating as the vampire drank deep.

“Stand up,” I said, drawing my wand. The vampire got to his feet, staring at me angrily. He was hissing like a cat again.

“Just say the word and we can petrify him,” Bradley said behind me.

“That doesn’t work on vampires,” said William. “I told you, they’re durable. Even a killing curse would only slow it down. It has to be the heart, and it has to be wood.”  “Why?” said Yana.

“I’m not sure,” said William, “It might be the aura of the wielder being channelled through an organic-”

“It’s magic,” I said over my shoulder. It was a momentary glance, the briefest of fractions of a second. But the vampire took advantage of it, and launched himself at me. I darted to the side again, grabbing his outstretched arm and driving him into the wall once more. The same as before. Vampires may be immortal but they’re slaves to their instincts.

“Slow it down!” I yelled as I threw myself to the side before the vampire retaliated. Bradley cast a petrifaction spell. Like William had said, the vampire basically shrugged it off, but it

distracted him. He span around, first hissing at Bradley then turning towards me, and as he faced me I plunged my wand into his chest. He tried to scratch at me with his talons but his strength was failing rapidly, and he could barely paw against my arm.

The construction of the wand was good. William had made it himself, specifically for me, out of the strongest of olive woods. I was particularly proud of it. It seemed a shame to plunge it between the third and fourth ribs, just to the right of his breastbone. Yes, I know exactly where to put a wooden stake. Are you honestly surprised? Anyway, he started rocketing blood out of the hole almost immediately, but I was ready for that too and stepped smartly to the side. The vampire’s shocked expression was very rewarding. I couldn’t reach into the bloody flow to retrieve my wand, even though I hate being wand-less. I kicked the vampire over, encouraging him to land on his front, pushing my wand deeper into his chest. William, Yana and Bradley stepped quickly over the vampire’s body, and those of his elvish victims.

We hurried onwards. We were lucky that the rest of the corridor was empty. Pakobna appeared, running alongside us as we slowed down, letting Bradley listen to the quick flurry of words.

“He says all of our possessions are in the trunk of the car. He has packed our bags for us. He’s saying the high-master has started to cast powerful spells. He says the elves have to leave now, before they’re trapped here. He wants you to know that when you are safe, the debt of his people is fulfilled. He says the elves will never obey another human as long as they live, even you.”

“Blimey,” I muttered, “Ask him if the clockwork men are all destroyed.”

“He says no. Some still remain. He’s very insistent about the elves leaving now. I’m not sure about half the words he’s using.”

“Damn! Well, tell him thank you,” I said.

“He says they are now ‘svobodnyh el-fov’. Free elves,” Yana told me.

The doors to the stables were easy to push open, and there was the car. The broomsticks of Bradley and I were still lashed to the top of it. William threw a spell at the locked wooden doors, and they exploded outwards violently. Bradley was starting up the engine, and the car lurched into the air, swaying uncertainly. It was sputtering unhealthily, clearly still damaged from the terrible landing we had made such a short time ago.

“What is that?” Yana said, staring at it like she’d never seen a car before. I suppose, with the way the wizards here kept themselves so separate from muggles, maybe she hadn’t.

“Later,” I said, pushing her into the back seat. “William, get in.”

“What about the rest of the mechanical men?” she said, “I cannot leave if some still remain.”

“I’ve had an idea about that,” William was saying, as he got into the back seat next to her, with the metallic ball in his lap. “Once we get back to London, it shouldn’t be difficult to set up some sort of self-destruct spell then cast it through the wormhole into the brain-socket of each of the clockwork soldiers. For the time being, as long as we have the ball, their soldiers aren’t going anywhere.”

“We are going to London?” said Yana. An element of happiness was already creeping back into her voice, and she seemed more like the timid groupie I’d seen when she had first met William.

“If we can make it that far. I think it’s best we get out of damn Russia at least, eh?” said Bradley, turning the car so that we spiralled up around the castle through the clear mountain air. I’d had no idea the sun would be up, and it hurt my eyes. We were all blinking in the sunlight as we climbed higher and higher into the air. Sitting in the passenger seat next to Bradley, I had the best view of the castle as it sped past our windows.

While we drove past, one of the walls near to where the castle joined the mountain was smashed outwards. The rubble nearly hit the car as we struggled through the sky. The troll tumbled out of the hole in the wall, sparks of coloured light flying out around her. As we sped past through the sky, I thought I saw Lvov standing amidst the other wizards firing powerful spells after the creature as she fled down the mountainside. I considered sending him some sort of farewell, but we had already flown out of view around one of the towers and out into the wide blue yonder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

It was a long flight. William had to make mid-air repairs to the car and its enchantments, badgering Bradley to land somewhere so he could do it properly, and pick up some food. Apparently all we’d been through had only heightened his appetite. I grew slowly envious of William and Yana talking animatedly in the backseat about various magical things that I didn’t understand. Sometimes Bradley would be called upon to translate a word or a phrase, but other than that they ignored us in the front seats. William hardly spoke to me, which I hated at first. But then, just like before, I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up when we finally landed on a deserted stretch of road on the outskirts of London, and drove straight to the Ministry. Bradley insisted on reporting to them before we did anything else, including letting me shower. We had to take one of the few mundane entrances into the Ministry due to the dangerous machine that William and Yana insisted on carrying inside. We attracted a lot of strange looks as we arrived at the main reception desk and told the witch behind it that we needed to see someone. Bradley wrote a quick note to his own superiors while we were told that Percy Weasley had left a message with the receptionists. He wanted us to report to him as soon as we turned up. After Bradley had finished quickly scribbling, he led us up to Weasley’s office.

As we walked through the Ministry, we could tell something was wrong. There was a frantic look to a lot of people, and the paper-airplane memos were zipping around the corridors crazily. Weasley was looking even more officious and blustery than usual.

“Come in, sit down,” he said, summoning more chairs out of thin air. “What on Earth happened? You were supposed to be on a mission of peace and international cooperation and you end up nearly destroying Durmstrang! Their embassy is enraged!”

“Durmstrang has seen worse disasters. It will prevail,” Yana told him coldly.

“And who’s this?” Percy demanded, pointing the feather of his quill at Yana.

“They were building a mechanical army to invade England,” William said, trying to explain.

“What? That’s insane!” Percy snapped, the stress making his voice crack.

“Who says we had anything to do with it?” I said smoothly. The others all looked at me too, and in my peripheral vision I could see William breaking into a wide grin.

“Their ambassador,” said Percy.

“And have you checked into his claims yet? Ambassadors have been known to lie,” I continued.

“What are you saying?” Percy said uncertainly. I almost laughed at his naivety.

It was at that moment that the ambassador himself burst into Weasley’s office. He was a thick, red-faced man with iron-grey eyes, a thick white beard and a tall pointed hat over his bushy grey hair. He spoke with a heavy Russian accent as he bellowed at us,

“You! What are you doing here! Mister Weasley, I demand that you place these people under arrest and that you begin extradition proceedings immediately! They must answer for the crimes they have committed in my country!”

“Mister Ambassador, please-” began Weasley but the ambassador interrupted, continuing his rant.

“The renowned name of Durmstrang has been smeared, our education infrastructure has been destabilised and agents of your government have introduced seditious and scandalous ideas to the young minds of our students! Violence was encouraged on the premises by subversive English operatives! They endangered every life on the castle grounds! Teachers are dead! Students are dead! This is a valid cause for the strongest of diplomatic sanctions, if not outright war!”

William stood up, his face red with rage, leaving the silver ball of mechanical brain in his seat. There was that expression on William’s face again, the same as when he’d left Azkaban, the same as when he’d decided to start pissing off the auditorium during his lecture. I sat back, determined to enjoy the show whatever the outcome may be.

The ambassador fell silent as William turned to him, staring him down with a crazed look in his one eye. I noticed the ambassador wince away from William’s scarred and cursed eye socket, but he was fixated by the anger in William’s face.

“Mister Ambassador,” said William, in an angry growl, “We went to Durmstrang with the best of intentions. After giving my lecture to an unfriendly and ungrateful crowd, I was assaulted, as was an employee of the Ministry of Magic itself, by unprofessional and frankly brutal agents of your own state,” he said, his voice growing hard and merciless as both the ambassador and Percy spluttered and tried to interrupt. I spoke over everyone, joining in gleefully,

“The esteemed Professor Doctor Grey was treated with violence!”

“Thank you, Miss Baker,” William continued, “And while my colleagues and myself were undergoing this appalling treatment, we still managed to escape the beginnings of a terrible revolution. While the high-master himself lost control of the house-elves resident to his facility, no less! We were given neither help nor aid during this crisis, and were forced to make our own escape, terrified for our lives!” he was shouting now, “Now, please repeat again the exact charges of which we are accused, and I’m sure we can settle this like civilized adults,” he roared, spit flying from his mouth.

The ambassador had noticed the silver ball. His face turned pale.

“What is that doing here?”

“Mister Ambassador, are you suggesting that you know what this is a component of?” William said, striding back to his chair and holding up the clockwork ball in one hand. He offered it up to the ambassador, lunging it close to his face. The ambassador physically cringed away from it.

“I… I cannot claim to have any knowledge of that object. But it… _looks_ dangerous, and should be treated with the utmost care,” he said, his voice quavering.

“I don’t think it looks dangerous at all,” said William, tossing it from one hand to the other with some difficulty. The ambassador whimpered. Even Yana winced.

Another man walked into the office, opening and closing the door behind him very quietly. It was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic himself. He stood tall and proud, his black skin shining in the bright light of Weasley’s office. He was wearing a long blue robe with golden trim. He looked like the opposite of the Russian ambassador. He was followed by two men with pads of paper, each of them scribbling with quills. Several paper aeroplanes hovered around them, awaiting their attention.

“Ah, Professor Doctor,” said Kingsley, his voice rich, deep and calm, “And Ambassador Iralom, I’m pleased to find you both together. Ambassador, I would like to begin by assuring you that the beginnings of a full investigation are underway, and if any of my staff or the citizens under my care is found to have acted in a manner I find reprehensible, they shall of course be removed to your custody. Do you have adequate facilities to detain them, pending the full hearing?” he said, smoothly.

“What?” said the ambassador, still staring terrified at the ball in William’s hand, “Uh, no. Of course I don’t. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“If, indeed, something like this is what we are facing, we may not be in the situation we think we are,” Kingsley said. “In order to determine that, would you mind meeting me in my office in ten minutes time?”

“This is the incorrect procedure,” said the ambassador, faltering.

“It may not the… ‘official’ procedure, but I’m sure we can explore our views unofficially before the official and highly public investigatory hearings are conducted,” Kingsley said.

The ambassador didn’t waste another word, instead staring in absolute confusion from the Minister to William, gazing at the silver ball then at Weasley, finally turning and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Professor Doctor, I really am very sorry,” said Kingsley, turning to William, “Please believe me that nobody in the Ministry expected anything like this. Personally, I would never have placed you or anyone in this room in the path of danger.”

“Well, we’re alive at least,” muttered William, and Kingsley laughed softly.

“It seems that the ambassador was terrified of the silver ball you’re currently holding in one uncertain hand. What is it?” he asked.

“In layman’s terms, it contains an infinitely-folded space full of incredibly complicated clockwork that controls an unknown number of deadly mechanised soldiers.”

“So it’s like a magic computer then?” Kingsley said, nodding in appreciative respect.

“A what?” Yana interjected. It was interesting to see a muggle-savvy wizard like Kingsley forget his practised, calm demeanour and give Yana a sidelong glance of disbelief, like she was from the sixteenth century.

“Sort of like that, yes. Except it was built by Russians and it has the potential to unleash an explosion on the scale of several dozen nuclear weapons,” William said, ignoring Yana. Kingsley frowned briefly.

“Are you sure?”

“Believe me, Minister, this object is probably the most dangerous thing on the entire planet,” William insisted.

“Very well,” he said, beckoning forward one of his aides, “We’ll take it somewhere safe.”

“It’s not that simple,” said William, “It’s a fairly stable design but it can’t be taken through any wormholes or space manipulation or anything. There’s no telling what it would do if you the overloaded warp-matrices!”

“Thank you for your advice, Professor Doctor. Rest assured, I myself have experience with similar situations, and I have the best staff to take care of it.”

“You cannot!” Yana exclaimed, leaping out of her seat, “It is highly dangerous! I came to this country with Wi-… with the Professor Doctor for only the purpose of disassembling this safely!”

“I’m sorry, miss…?” said Kingsley.

“Yana. Yana Ilnitavitch.”

“Well, Miss Yani Initovitch-”

“Yana Ilnitavitch,” corrected William, giving Yana a quick smile that made her blush once again.

“Miss Ilnitavitch, we would be pleased to accept your assistance in this matter but I’m afraid I suspect my staff would rather keep this matter in-house, if you follow me. Nevertheless, if you wish to make a contribution, we can certainly find a position for you in the Ministry. Do you have somewhere to stay overnight until we can arrange for your secure accommodation?”

“She can stay at my place,” William said, altogether too readily. I stared suddenly at the wall, feeling exhaustion and jealousy once more rise inside me, not trusting myself to make eye contact with anyone in the room.

“Very good. Miss Ilnitavitch, the Ministry will be in contact in the morning. In the meantime, from the sound of it, I think a good night’s rest is in order all round, eh?” Kingsley said. “If you wouldn’t mind giving the object to my aide, we will store it somewhere safe, as I said, and have it studied by our top men. We will have a much better idea of how to deal with it by the time the sun rises.”

“Who’s studying it?” William asked suddenly.

“As I said, our top men,” Kingsley said smoothly, encouraging William to roll the ball into the outstretched arms of his assistant, who looked down at it with wide-eyed alarm, dropping his notepad and quill. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen? Professor Doctor Grey, I apologise once again. Please do look after Miss Ilnitavitch, I suspect she may be very valuable. Bradley, I expect the Auror office will want to debrief you fully. And Miss Baker?” he said, looking directly at me finally.

“Yes?” I said, looking up.

“I trust that you will share your observations with the Ministry, as was discussed?”

“Of course,” I lied, smiling sweetly. Kingsley Shacklebolt turned to leave, but Weasley leapt to his feet.

“Good afternoon, Minister,” he said, after Kingsley’s departing aides.

“Good afternoon, Percy! Good work, as always,” came Kingsley’s voice from the corridor, and Percy looked genuinely smug about this scrap of praise.

With the departure of the Minister, his aides and the clockwork brain, the room felt a lot emptier and calmer. William and Yana were sitting back down, exchanging intriguing glances. Bradley was looking up at the ceiling carefully, probably rehearsing the story for his superiors. Weasley was still standing, leaning his knuckles on his desk and looking like he’d just been hit by an elephant. As he sat down, he looked at the four of us as if we were barely even here, trying to cope with having the Russian ambassador, the Minister of Magic and a tiny, incredibly powerful bomb in his office all at once.

I coughed gently and raised my hand to attract Weasley’s attention. Everyone looked at me distractedly and I took a deep breath.

“I remember, Mister Weasley, that you said I could name my price. I think with all things considered, my own price and the price of everyone here may just have gone up.”

\---

William had his elf Hoppy drop me off in the car at my flat, far from any magical community. I took my luggage out of the boot and untied my broomstick from the roof of it. I bitterly watched them drive away. Sighing, I slung my broomstick over my shoulder and heaved my heavy luggage up the stairs to the top storey. I’d only been living here a little while – I like to move around a lot, and I don’t have much to my name besides a few photo albums, my clothes and my wand. Well, not even my wand now. I’d have to get William to make another one. Again. Apart from the kitchen, the bathroom, the bed and the wardrobe that both came with the flat, there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the place.

I carefully withdrew the camera from my handbag and then dumped out the rest of the contents, including the distorted photo of William and I moving strangely. I looked at it for a long while, thinking about him and Yana. I sighed deeply again, surprised by the level of my own jealousy.

I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing the filth off my skin ferociously and letting the water run through my hair soothingly. It felt like an eternity. As I dried myself and put on my soft dressing gown, I realised I was still exhausted, but I was determined to fix my sleeping pattern now that I was home. As I put the kettle on, I remembered the look on Percy Weasley’s face with a smirk, and allowed myself a chuckle. Then I started to unpack while I sipped at my tea, flipping open the lid of my suitcase. Inside, there was one last surprise from Lvov.

He must have put it in my suitcase before all the trouble had started. Or maybe he’d snuck it in while defeating the elves and battling the troll. Either way, inside my suitcase was a single white rose, a fur coat and a letter, sealed with black wax. I was smiling softly. The rose smelt absolutely gorgeous. The fur coat was luxurious and warm. I recognised it as a werewolf pelt, so I probably wouldn’t be able to wear it in polite society, but I hardly spend any time there anyway. I cracked open the wax seal on the letter delicately with a fingernail and read it. It said nothing but, ‘Next time, no surprises.’

I laughed. Of course there would be.


End file.
